


Ain't No Rest

by Shinsun



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Also Did I Mention There's Gonna Be Angst, And By Extension His Kid, Background AoMomo, Background KiKuro If You Squint, But Make No Mistake This Is An AoKaga Fic, Canon Divergence, Changes of Tense, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Inconveniences, Gambling Basketball, I Meant To Learn About Cars And Then I Forgot, Intermittent Flashbacks, It Takes A Village To Raise Aomine, Kinda, M/M, Much Ado About Cars From Someone Who Does Not Know About Cars, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Single Dad AU, Slow Burn, Strap In There's Gonna Be Angst, Teen Pregnancy, Well The Rating Changed You Know What That Means
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-01-08 22:23:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 50,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12263262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinsun/pseuds/Shinsun
Summary: Life is tough for a single parent...especially a high school dropout parent living on odd jobs and gambling basketball named Aomine Daiki. Life gets even tougher when actual, challenging opponent Kagami Taiga appears and proceeds to fuck all of his shit up.





	1. Chapter 1

 

> “Are you _shitting_ me?”
> 
>  
> 
> “No, I’m not. I tested twice to make sure...and both times it came back positive.”
> 
>  
> 
> “I thought you said you were on the fucking pill!”
> 
>  
> 
> Satsuki heaved a sigh, forcing patience, as was her wont in life.
> 
>  
> 
> “That was almost a year ago, Dai-chan. The doctor took me off it when I started getting those horrible migraines, don’t you remember?”
> 
>  
> 
> Dai-chan didn’t seem inclined to answer, gripping his hair with blanched knuckles and sinking heavily onto one of the linoleum steps behind him.
> 
>  
> 
> “Fuck... _fuck_ , _”_ he gasped, pressing the heel of his hand into his forehead and squeezing his eyes shut.
> 
>  
> 
> Shifting her weight from foot to foot, Satsuki floundered in place as she cast about for something to say.
> 
>  
> 
> “Dai-chan…?”
> 
>  
> 
> She watched him take a deep breath, shoulders dropping from around his ears as he let it out slowly and looked up at her.
> 
>  
> 
> “I’m okay...it’s okay, we’ll...we can figure this out...”
> 
>  
> 
> The lack of assurance in his voice wasn’t exactly comforting, but then, Satsuki hadn’t come to him looking for comfort.
> 
>  
> 
> “How?” she asked, coming over to sit beside him and pressing the hem of her skirt down anxiously around her knees, “Dai-chan, what are we going to do?”
> 
>  
> 
> “I don’t know,” he said, clasping his hands behind his neck and leaning back against the stairs, as if a school stairwell could have possibly made a comfortable headrest, “I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

 

.

 

.

 

The sky is already dark by the time he pulls up to the street court, but the bright, faintly humming hoop lights still illuminate the free throw lines spray-painted on the beaten tarmac, and the loose congregation of bettors and competitors huddled in the center, so as to obscure wagers from prying outside eyes. Gambling law in Tokyo is a hot mess, and is just strict enough for lucrative matches like these to be held in relative secret. But there are no regulations against recreational streetball, and as long as the gamblers pass for spectators, it’s hardly ever enforced anyway.

 

At the edge of the court, Daiki pauses to kneel down and lace up his basketball shoes -- just off-brand black high-tops at this point; he swapped the last of his Jays for rent and groceries long ago -- taking the opportunity to lazily survey the competition. Some new faces here and there, as well as a few he recognizes, but nothing impressive on the outset. Only one guy even approaches his height, and he looks nervous, frequently checking the empty street over his shoulder and running his fingers through his vibrant red hair. His darker-haired, somewhat shorter companion, who seems much more assured, and frequently engages the tall guy in quick bursts of conversation Daiki can’t understand, is also unfamiliar.

 

Huffing a dismissive breath to himself, Daiki gets to his feet and stretches his legs, before sauntering over to join the ragtag group of players gathering in the middle of the court, where teams are being decided by the smug, self-appointed MC, Imayoshi Shouichi.

 

“Well, there goes the game, everyone,” Imayoshi grins sardonically, as Daiki approaches the center line, “How ‘bout it, are we feeling merciful tonight, Aomine?”

 

Daiki’s eyes cut to the imposingly tall, fidgeting redhead on the other side of the line, holding his gaze, and he can’t fight a sneer, “Not even close.”

 

Imayoshi’s grin widens, “Bummer. Alright folks, if you’d like to place your bets, now’s the time. The rest of you,” his sharp eyes scan the circle of players surrounding him, eternally full of their own lofty amusement behind the reflective flash of his glasses, “It’s a two thousand yen entrance fee for the first heat -- three-on-three, full-court rules. No pushing, no shoving, no aggravated assault, you all know the drill. First team to fifty takes the round. Any questions? No? Good. Pass the hat, gentlemen, and we’ll start with the tip-off.”

 

In a fluid motion, Imayoshi whips a beaten folding cap from his head and thrusts it at Tall Guy’s chest, upside down like a charity basket at church. The hat makes its rounds and returns to Imayoshi’s hands filled with a mound of creased and crumpled bills, and deftly, he folds it in half twice to stow in the inner pocket of his jacket.

 

“Now then,” he says, with finality as well as brimming anticipation, clapping his hands together and motioning to one of the more familiar spectators hovering nearby. At his signal, a weathered basketball comes sailing directly into his hands, and he drums it against the pavement once or twice before allowing it to spin, tantalizing, on the end of one finger. All eyes are on him now. “Let’s have the tallest to the center line, shall we?”

 

With a cursory glance at his current teammates -- whom he barely knows, but whom he can bet definitely know of him -- Daiki advances a step to the middle of the court, while they fan out behind him, already starting to crouch in defense. Tall Guy faces him head to head, after receiving an encouraging word and a brief pat on the back from his dark-haired friend. Idly, Daiki notices a glint of silver hanging from around both of their necks, and settles into a comfortably derisive smirk. _How cute, they’re matching…_

 

Across the court, a whistle screeches. The ball goes up, and so does Daiki, but his fingertips barely have a chance to nick the dimpled surface before it’s whisked away by Tall Guy, who drops immediately into a triple threat and starts sizing him up with narrowed eyes under kind of freakish eyebrows.

 

Alright, fine then. Daiki rolls his shoulders to loosen them, deciding to let this guy know exactly who he’s dealing with a little sooner than expected. It’s only fair.

 

Tall Guy fakes left, but Daiki doesn’t fall for it, following his gleaming red eyes as they dart around the court, looking for an opening. His stance is low, predatory, and the guy copies him, wetting his lips as he drives the ball against the ground once, twice, between the legs, around and -- _there._

 

Taking the split-second opening, Daiki lunges for the ball. Tall Guy is ready for it, switching hands behind his back and guarding against him, watching his every move. But he’s already starting to sweat, and it hasn’t even been a full minute yet. His nerves are showing, and Daiki is going to exploit every last one of them before he crushes this guy under the heel of his crappy knock-off shoe. Just like all the rest.

 

He makes another dive for the ball, and Tall Guy steps back this time, hesitating. Daiki wants to cluck his tongue at him impatiently. _There’s no stalling in basketball…_

 

“What is this, gym class?” he taunts, shaking his head in pretend dismay, “Make the shot or give the ball to someone else, hm?”

 

“Shut up,” is Tall Guy’s brilliant retort; his deep voice has an interesting rasp of agitation to it, “I’m thinking.”

 

Daiki laughs, “Don’t hurt yourself.”

 

He strikes out again with one arm, invading Tall Guy’s bubble, and Tall Guy finally lets the ball fly, flinging it behind his back to his dark-haired teammate. Daiki’s disappointed in him, but not surprised. Figures the goody two (name brand) shoes would also be a team player.

 

Tall Guy’s teammate doesn’t waste any time pussyfooting around. As soon as someone marks him, he shoots, the ball sailing from his fingertips in a perfect arc and swishing through the net, almost silent. Daiki takes the opportunity to snap it up, and has no more than taken a single step before -- _oh, hello --_ Tall Guy is back again, squaring off against him with his arms outstretched on either side.

 

Daiki gives him a downright pitying smirk, “It’s gonna take more than that, friend.”

 

Crouching low, he dribbles a rapid criss-cross around his ankles, feints one way, twists around Tall Guy as he follows him, and makes a break for the hoop. Tall Guy and his teammates try to stop him, of course, but they may as well have not existed for all the good they did in impeding the shot. Effortless, as always.

 

From there, it should have been all too easy for him to take command of the game, to drive past opponents and teammates alike and amass points with his usual brand of relentless consecution. It should have been. But Tall Guy, apparently, is not going to just roll over and accept that.

 

After his predictably weak start and his failure to follow through, now that he’s seen what Daiki’s made of, his nerves seem to just melt away, and he becomes an entirely different player, blocking Daiki at every turn and even getting in his face for good measure. And Daiki soon discovers that not only is he tall, but really broad as well, using the full width of his massive shoulders to become a goddamn human wall with the sole purpose of getting in Daiki’s way. It’s annoyingly impressive how built he is too, like he’s been chiseled out of fucking marble; simply muscling past him is out of the question, it seems.

 

He even manages to score a few baskets of his own, instead of dishing off to his teammates every chance he gets, showing a preference for dunks and other flashy plays from _way_ too high above the ground. ...Seriously, the guy jumps like he’s wearing moon boots or some shit, and it shows in the way the score stays tied up all the way into the double digits.

 

From the sidelines, Daiki imagines he can hear people biting their nails as their jacked up bets hang in the balance. It’s too late in the game for it to be this close.

 

And it’s aggravating, because it’s still not like the guy is _on par_ with Daiki, but he’s sure acting like it all of a sudden. When he’s marking him -- and he’s _always_ fucking marking him -- he’s grinning, showing lots of straight white teeth, and he throws taunts like he expects Daiki to indulge him in some kind of playful, teasing banter. People generally don’t tend to _enjoy_ being crushed, so Daiki’s going to take it as a hint that this guy just isn’t being crushed hard enough.

 

Better fix that, then.

 

Snatching the ball as it rebounds off the backboard from one of his own useless teammates, Daiki drives it violently into the net, crashing to the ground hard and immediately whipping around to stop Tall Guy from intercepting it, curling his lip as he skids to a stop in front of him.

 

“Finally getting serious, huh?” Tall Guy pants, still grinning like a damn fool all over his stupid face.

 

Daiki blinks a little at that, but doesn’t ask, just slips past his screen to regain possession of the ball, and this game.

 

It doesn’t surprise him that the game ends in his overwhelming victory. That, by now, is a given.  It does surprise him, though, that it took so long, and required so much effort on his part that he will _not_ admit to using. His soaked shirt and shaking legs and all around shortness of breath might be giving him away just a tad, though. Whatever.

 

He would have to be an idiot to expect Tall Guy not to confront him after the match. He doesn’t seem like the sore loser type, but he does seem like the handshaking “good game, you beat me fair and square” type, which is almost as annoying.

 

So, after collecting his share of the winnings for the first round -- which is _all_ he plans on doing tonight, thank you -- he doesn’t so much as bat an eyelash to see the guy approaching him as he turns around.

 

“Hey, good game, man, that was intense,” Tall Guy says, and what the fuck is he _still_ smiling about? Daiki raises an eyebrow at him.

 

“And you are?” he asks dismissively, pocketing the cash and starting to walk away from him.

 

“Oh, right,” Tall Guy visibly backtracks, jogging to catch up with him, “My name’s Kagami...Taiga. No need to ask yours, you’re sort of a celebrity around here, Aomine.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Daiki agrees, snatching up his bag from the sidelines and digging around for his keys, “So, Kagami...what do you want?” Surely not a pat on the back and a condescending “you did well” speech, the guy all but admitted that he’d expected to lose.

 

Kagami holds up a hand, index and middle finger extended like a peace sign, “Two things.”

 

Daiki looks at him, unimpressed, for a moment, and then swings his bag over his shoulder, “That’s too many things.”

 

“Just,” Kagami persists, cutting in front of him as he starts to leave and holding a hand in front of his chest, “Hear me out. Please.”

 

Daiki heaves a begrudging sigh, and stays put, “Fine. What.”

 

“I want a rematch.”

 

Daiki blinks. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised, but he is. Mostly because of the fierce spark of determination in the guy’s strange eyes, like he expects a different outcome from their next game. Like he might even expect to win next time.

 

“...And?”

 

Okay fine, he’s intrigued by that. By the possibility that what he saw today might not have been Kagami’s limit. And besides, he’s already going to be playing again, it might as well be against this guy.

 

Kagami hesitates this time, shuffling his feet and clearing his throat before standing up straight and naming his second request.

 

“A date.”

 

Daiki stares. “Excuse me?”

 

If he was surprised before, this time he’s completely thrown, looking Kagami up and down skeptically, unable to decide if he’s being serious or not. He’s being awfully presumptuous, if so.

 

“Go out with me,” Kagami repeats, earnest, and okay, so he is serious, after all.

 

_Well, can’t say the guy doesn’t have a big ol’ pair of brass ones, at least. His social skills could use some work._

 

But then, what Kagami said seems to catch up with him and he flushes dark, dropping his gaze quickly to look at his shoes.

 

“That is um...you don’t have to, obviously, if you don’t want to, I mean, shit are you even --?”

 

“Gay?” Daiki interjects, neutrally.

 

If possible, Kagami goes redder, but Daiki thinks he can see a tiny smile crooking up the corner his mouth, “I was gonna say single.”

 

Daiki has to think about it, though it probably isn’t the kind of thing that should have to be thought about. The short answer is that it’s complicated. And that would be a lot easier to give a complete stranger like Kagami than the long answer and all its... _domestic_ issues. _Maybe some other time..._

 

He shrugs, “Jury’s kinda out on both of those right now, so…”

 

“Is that a _yes?_ ” Kagami sputters, like he can hardly dare to believe it. Like he was expecting to lose again. Daiki frowns.

 

“How about this?” he tries instead, waving off the astonishment on Kagami’s stupid, hopeful face, “Sure, I’ll go out with you, _if_ you can beat me. In a match, one on one, doesn’t matter to me, but show me that first. Then I’ll consider it.”

 

Kagami starts to open his mouth, maybe to ask, maybe to argue, but in the end he just shuts it, and nods in agreement.

 

“Okay.” Then he bares his teeth at him in that blinding grin that was so irritating...so _distracting_ , on the court, “Deal. Just try not to cry when I hand you your ass next time, now that I’ve got a reason to go all out.”

 

Daiki doesn’t have to suppress a shiver of anticipation at that. He doesn’t.

 

“Let’s see you put your money where your mouth is,” he says coolly, “Next time --”

 

“Taiga!” Daiki looks over to the middle of the court, where Kagami’s friend with the matching jewelry is waving him over, “You staying for the next round, or what?”

 

“Y-yeah, just a second, Tatsuya!” Kagami shouts back.

 

“Well, I guess that’s my cue to go,” Daiki says, but again, Kagami stops him.

 

“Wait -- just a second.” He fishes around in his pockets and pulls out a pen, grabbing Daiki’s wrist with his right hand and pulling him over.

 

“The fuck --?” Daiki starts, but Kagami’s already scrawling something onto his palm with his left. A phone number, no doubt.

 

“In case you change your mind,” is all he says, releasing his wrist and stepping back. His touch lingers like a pleasant smell, and Daiki can’t stand it.

 

“Yeah, whatever,” He scoffs, and turns to leave again, stalking toward the parking lot with a purpose. This time Kagami lets him go.

 

.

 

.

 

 

> “Do your parents know?” Dai-chan asked the next day after practice, stretching his arms over his head in a picture of nonchalance. His face and the tone of his voice were anything but.
> 
>  
> 
> “Yeah,” Satsuki nodded numbly, squeezing her clipboard to her chest and biting her lip.
> 
>  
> 
> “...And?”
> 
>  
> 
> She huffed a humorless laugh, crossing her ankles under the bench, “Well, they’re not thrilled...” she began dryly, trailing off as she considered the weight of the rest, “They...said I should probably start looking for a clinic.”
> 
>  
> 
> Dai-chan’s whole body went rigid, and he released a breath like a sliver of glass, “... _Fuck_ , what...what do you think?”
> 
>  
> 
> “I… God, I don’t know, Dai-chan, I don’t...I mean...for goodness’ sake, we’re only seventeen, we can’t possibly…” she broke off, and for a long moment, neither of them said anything, or met the other’s eye, the unspoken truth a palpable wall of tension between them. It had been...it was _supposed_ to have been, a one-time thing...not a lifetime thing. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
> 
>  
> 
> “I um…” she began after a moment, pushing her hair over one shoulder absently, “I got into Ritsumeikan University.” Shifting where she sat, she waited for Dai-chan’s eyes to turn back to hers. They did, still wide with shock, and now confusion, “Early decision.”
> 
>  
> 
> “Ritsumeikan…” Dai-chan echoed blankly, parsing out the change of subject in that way that he had. Slow but steady. “Wait, isn’t that in Kyoto? Why are you going so far away?”
> 
>  
> 
> Satsuki breathed out a sound that had been trapped in her chest since yesterday. A laugh or a sob, both, she wasn’t sure.
> 
>  
> 
> “I-it’s a _really_ good school, Dai-chan,” she said, bowing her head to stare at her shoes, “It’s more than I could have hoped for, and I…” her voice choked off, and she covered her mouth with a hand, “I r-really wanted to go…”
> 
>  
> 
> Eyebrows furrowing, Dai-chan came over to the bench and sat beside her. His arm was warm and solid as he laid it gingerly across her shoulders, drawing her close.
> 
>  
> 
> “Hey,” he said, gentle, reaching out with his other hand to wipe away the tear that had started dripping down her cheek, “Don’t do that, Satsuki, _hey..._ it’s okay.”
> 
>  
> 
> “I-I don't know what to do...” she stammered, looking up at him and seeing her own fears and doubts reflected on his face. She’d never seen those blue eyes look so tired.
> 
>  
> 
> He looked away first, rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully as he surveyed the empty gym, “...Ritsumeikan, huh?” he said at last, considering, “Well...if that’s what you want, Satsuki, you...you should totally go for it. Don’t let anything stand in the way of what you want to do.”
> 
>  
> 
> Wiping her face on the sleeve of her sweater and grimacing at the smear of foundation that came away, Satsuki sat up straight and tried to pull herself together.
> 
>  
> 
> “Th-that’s sweet of you to say, Dai-chan, but...I can’t. I probably can’t even go to college at all, now that --”
> 
>  
> 
> “I said,” Dai-chan interrupted, leveling her with a look of raw determination that was so rare now, but still caused something to tug viciously in her guts whenever she saw it, “Don’t let anything stand in your way. You got that?”
> 
>  
> 
> “So...you think I should…?” Her hands fumbled in her lap, before hugging around her stomach as she let the question hang open, empty.
> 
>  
> 
> Dai-chan visibly winced, squirming uncomfortably like the bench had suddenly gotten hot.
> 
>  
> 
> “That’s…it’s your decision to make. It’s your body. And hell, maybe it would make things...easier, but --”
> 
>  
> 
> “But…?”
> 
>  
> 
> “Please...” Her head snapped up at that; she could count the number of times Dai-chan had ever begged her for anything on one hand, and she didn’t need all the fingers. “ _Please_ don’t do it, Satsuki, I…”
> 
>  
> 
> Satsuki sighed, dropping her face into her hands helplessly, “I can’t go to one of the top medical schools in the country and take care of a baby at the same time, Dai-chan, I just...can’t. It’s too much…”
> 
>  
> 
> Silence, for a count of several seconds...then:
> 
>  
> 
> “I’ll take care of it.”

 

.

 

.

 

“You’re pretty late, Aomine-kun.”

 

"Bullshit,” Daiki protests, glancing at the pitch black sky behind him like he can tell time by the placement of the fucking moon, “I only played one round, what time is it?”

 

“Almost ten o'clock,” Tetsu informs him, stepping back from the door, “Come in, and take off your shoes this time, please. We’re not in the States.”

 

“Yeah yeah,” Daiki grumbles, kicking off his damn generic shoes and scuffing his feet into a pair of guest slippers, “Is she asleep?”

 

“Yes,” Tetsu says over his shoulder, leading him down the narrow hallway of his apartment to the bedroom, “I put her to bed early like you asked, she did seem rather out of it.”

 

“It’s just a cold,” Daiki murmurs, opening the door at Tetsu’s invitation and peering into the room.

 

“The doctor said?” Tetsu prompts pensively, hanging back in the hallway.

 

“I Googled it.”

 

“Ah. That's as good as, then." He doesn't sound sarcastic, but then, he never does. "How was work?”

 

Daiki puts two fingers to his temple and theatrically cocks them back.

 

Tetsu sighs, but there’s an edge of his weird, dry humor to it, “And the game?”

 

“It was pretty interesting, actually,” Daiki whispers, turning back around and shutting the door behind him quietly.

 

Tetsu blinks, face inscrutable as always, and waits for him to elaborate. That’s the thing about Tetsu; he doesn’t feel the need to fill silences any more than he has to. Sometimes Daiki respects that about him, sometimes it’s just irritating.

 

“This new guy, Kagami,” Daiki continues, unconsciously glancing down at his vandalized hand, “He put up a pretty good fight.”

 

Tetsu mock gasps, completely deadpan, and lays a hand over his chest, “Be still my heart.”

 

“Shut up,” Daiki rolls his eyes, “He still lost big time.”

 

“That’s not what it looks like to me,” Tetsu says primly, and what the fuck is _that_ supposed to mean?

 

“Are you going to keep talking, or can I take Yui and get the hell out of here? It’s been a long-ass day.”

 

“Yes, by all means, take her and leave, it’s been a twenty-four-hour day for me as well.”

 

“Smug little shit,” Daiki mutters to himself as he starts to turn the doorknob again.

 

“So,” Tetsu breathes conspiratorially, “When’s the wedding?”

 

Daiki almost falls through the door he’d been cautiously easing open and hisses out a curse as he stumbles, “ _Fucking --_ what?”

 

“Nothing, nothing,” Tetsu says behind his hand, stifling his laughter at Daiki’s expense, the bastard.

 

Holding back a long-suffering sigh, he approaches Tetsu’s bed that seems to dwarf the tiny lump of his sleeping daughter, curled up under the sheets. Yui’s short hair spills over the pale blue pillowcase and two pudgy fingers are stubbornly in her mouth, though she must be having trouble breathing through her nose. It’s not running anymore, but it’s still red and crusty and probably horribly stuffed up.

 

Absently, he brushes her bangs back and feels her forehead. It’s warm, but dry, with no sign of clamminess yet. He’s still going to check the exact temperature when they get home, though, this cold has been hell on his nerves already without adding on a fever. _Why do little kids always have to get sick?_

 

He pulls back the blanket slowly, delicately so as not to disturb her, but he probably needn’t have bothered. She’s out like a light, and doesn’t resist as he gently scoops her up and fits her slumbering form against his shoulder. He can already feel the drool soaking into his sleeve, and it puts the worry of waking her firmly out of his mind.

 

“Goodnight, Aomine-kun,” Tetsu murmurs at the door, as Daiki switches back into his shoes and doesn’t even try to tie them with his hands full. “See you next week.”

 

“Yeah,” Daiki whispers, supporting Yui’s back and feeling in his pocket for his keys, “See you, Tetsu.”

 

Slipping out of Tetsu’s apartment, he unlocks his car and braces his knee against the door as he fastidiously buckles Yui into her car seat, and then lets it fall shut with hardly a sound.

 

Every ache and exhausted muscle suddenly remembers its existence as he eases into the driver’s seat, and by the time he starts the engine and makes his way onto the road, all he can think about is sleep. Home, then sleep.

 

He glances in the rearview at his comatose daughter in the back seat, her fingers contentedly back in her mouth with her head lolled to one side, and allows a stupid, sappy smile to cross his face that no one will ever see.

 

She’s got the right idea.

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you only knew how many drafts this story has gone through...it's been a thing without being a thing for like six months now, and the _sigh of relief_ I released when I finally finished this first chapter could probably be heard 'round the world.
> 
> Bit different from my usual material, but at the same time this is...exactly the same as my usual material. Only the teen pregnancy is heterosexual this time and already happened in high school. ...Yeah.
> 
> I've got an actual plot in mind for this story though, like with consecutive events and consequences and an outline and everything, so I might actually be able to work on this one and not leave it dangling like so many of my other spur-of-the-moment ideas. Here's hoping.
> 
> Comments and kudos give me life, feed the author!


	2. Chapter 2

There’s something extra depressing about microwavable pancakes. Daiki glares at the cheerful blue package in his hand spitefully, as if it might be mocking him. Which, as far as he’s concerned, it is.  _This breakfast only requires minimal proficiency with a spatula and ten minutes of your time...but you don’t have either of those things, do you?_

 

He has his doubts that the stiff, artificially brown circles he pours out of the box onto a plate are actually edible, but fuck it, it’s Saturday. Yui wants pancakes, they’re having fucking pancakes.

 

Once nuked, the pseudo-pancakes just seem kind of sad and floppy, but Daiki thinks he did a good job compensating with the syrup, and even sprang for whipped cream and strawberries. It makes the whole thing look a lot more appealing overall.

 

Yui has been banging on the table with her plastic fork excitedly since she heard the word “pancakes” leave his mouth, though now it’s become a bit more of an impatient death march, rhythmically jabbing the utensil into the cheap veneer as she watches him cut hers into manageable pieces.

 

“Pancakes!” she says commandingly as he brings over the two plates. Daiki supposes he should be glad she’s got her lung power back, and is no longer sniffling pathetically, it’s proof she’s on the mend and sets his nerves a little more at ease. Still, though...

 

“What do we say?”

 

“Pancakes!” Yui says again, stabbing the table with the tines of her fork.

 

“That’s not asking nicely, Yui,” Daiki says, lifting her plate a little further out of her reach, “You know if you can’t use your manners, I might just have to eat all this myself...”

 

“Pan! Cakes! ...Please!” Yui tries, and it still sounds more like a demand than a request, but Daiki has learned by now to pick his battles. He sets her plate down in front of her and joins her at the table.

 

It’s been awhile since he’s had time to actually sit down and have breakfast with his daughter. Most days it’s all he can do to get her fed and out the door without being late for work, usually having to scavenge some kind of breakfast for himself later from a vending machine or something. Breakfast isn’t exactly more extravagant at home, but at least he can slow down and actually taste what he’s eating. Which, in the case of the microwaved pancakes, is surprisingly okay. Not the best thing he’s ever eaten, but still...six out of ten.

 

“S’awberry!” Yui exclaims, with her mouth full. There are smears of syrup all over her face, and just a dab of whipped cream on the end of her nose.

 

“Yeah, that is a strawberry,” Daiki agrees, poking at one of his own pieces thoughtfully. The vivid red fruit kind of reminds him of something.

 

Since yesterday, Kagami’s number has completely washed off of his hand, but not before he’d entered it into his phone, just for safe keeping. He hasn’t tried calling or texting it yet, doesn’t want to give the cocky bastard the satisfaction, but now, as he pushes the strawberry around on his plate, he thinks about what else he could be doing with his day off today. The weather’s supposed to be perfect, maybe Kagami would be down for a one-on-one later, to put their wager to the test.

 

Or would asking to play ball again just a day later make him look too interested? ...Does he  _want_ Kagami to think he’s interested? Hell, even revealing that he actually kept the number that had been scribbled last-minute onto his palm after the game last night might start giving Kagami ideas...

 

Yui’s fork clatters suddenly onto her plate as she stops eating and starts coughing, spraying the table with little wet crumbs and flecks of whipped cream. Daiki quickly snaps out of his thoughts and scrambles to his feet, seizing a napkin and holding it in front of her mouth as he presses the heel of his hand to her back, coaxing her to dislodge whatever object had caused her to choke. She coughs a few more times, and then spits a glob of partially-chewed strawberry into his hand. Then she draws a shaky breath, and he realizes he’s been holding his, and lets it out in a whoosh. Her nose has started running again, so he folds the napkin around the offending fruit and uses the edges to wipe it dry, then offers her a sippy cup of juice.

 

Only when she takes a gulp of the juice and starts breathing normally again does Daiki relax, collapsing into his chair as reality descends back onto him...as it always does, whenever he starts to get carried away. He can’t call Kagami. He can’t have a social life, or, God forbid, a  _relationship;_ he can’t fritter away his precious few days off playing free basketball with a guy who’s only offering him a challenge to try to get in his pants. His priority has to be Yui, at all times, he can’t let himself be distracted for even a moment.

 

“Better?” he asks when Yui sets her sippy cup aside. He’s going for calm and gentle, but he thinks his voice still comes out a bit strained.

 

“Mhmm,” she says, blissfully oblivious to his moment of panic, and picks up her little plastic fork to eat another strawberry.

 

.

 

.

 

 

> “You don’t think I can do it.”
> 
>  
> 
> Satsuki sighed, clutching her textbooks tighter to her chest, “It’s not that...Dai-chan, I just --”
> 
>  
> 
> “I meant what I said, you know,” Dai-chan interrupted, looking down at her adamantly. Pouting, really, which took some of the intimidation out of his stubborn, towering silhouette and just made him look childish. And that wasn’t helping his case.
> 
>  
> 
> “I know,” she said, “And I wish I could believe you, but...well…”
> 
>  
> 
> “What?”
> 
>  
> 
> Satsuki hesitated. “It’s...a  _huge_ job, raising a child. It’s huge for two people. Even for two adults who are married, with a steady income and a house and everything, it’s hard. It’ll be  _so_ much harder for you to do it alone, when you have none of that. Besides...”
> 
> She paused, biting her lip thoughtfully. There was no delicate way to phrase her lack of faith in him, and she knew anything she said was going to piss him off, but she had to press on in spite of that. Because he was her friend, he deserved her honesty. She took a deep breath.
> 
>  
> 
> “Besides, Dai-chan, we both know you can barely take care of yourself, let alone --”
> 
>  
> 
> “I can take care of --!” Dai-chan began hotly. Indignant. Predictable. Satsuki shook her head.
> 
>  
> 
> “Dai-chan, you sleep fourteen hours a day if you can manage it, and you eat absolute garbage,” she said bluntly, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk and meeting his hostile gaze, “You can’t cook for yourself, you don’t bother to clean…do you even know how to run a dishwasher?”
> 
>  
> 
> “It can’t be that hard,” Dai-chan scoffed, looking away from her petulantly, “I can just look that kind of stuff up, anyway.”
> 
>  
> 
> “That’s not the  _point,_ ” Satsuki sighed, lowering her arms so that the corners of her books dug sharply into her hips, “I’m sorry, Dai-chan, but you’re...just not ready to take this on. You’re like an overgrown child yourself; your parents still take care of you.  _I_  still take care of you half the time, and I don’t think throwing a baby in your lap and hoping for the best is a very good idea.”
> 
>  
> 
> She started to lower her gaze to the pavement apologetically, but a very large, strong hand clamping down on top of her head stopped her. She looked up, confused, and to her surprise, Dai-chan wasn’t averting his eyes anymore. No, now they were trained directly on hers, and they were blazing with anger.
> 
>  
> 
> “You don’t get to decide that for me,” he snapped, his voice hard and unwavering, “You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t handle, don’t you think I’ve thought of all this shit already? Don’t you think I know it’s gonna be tough and things are gonna have to change?” He snorted, his irate face scrunching up with offense as he drew up to his full height, “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Satsuki, jeez…”
> 
>  
> 
> “I’m sorry, Dai-chan...” Satsuki repeated sullenly, and this time she meant it. Everything she’d said was true, but that didn’t mean it was fair to him, considering he was struggling with this just as much as she was. And he certainly didn’t seem to be taking their situation lightly, or trying to shirk out of it, as she’d initially feared he might. She hadn’t been giving him enough credit.
> 
>  
> 
> After a moment, he let go of her hair, smoothing it down with a flat hand before gently nudging her back, urging her to keep walking. She did, having to take two strides for every one of his to keep up.
> 
>  
> 
> “You’re really serious about this, huh?” she asked after a moment, hooking her hair behind her ear to glance at him sidelong.
> 
>  
> 
> Dai-chan blew some air out through his nose impatiently, his focus still firmly ahead, “Tch. Don’t ask dumb questions, Satsuki, it’s not like you.”
> 
>  
> 
> She supposed that answered that, and while neither of them said a word for the remainder of the walk home, she realized that she felt considerably lighter now, as though even the stack of textbooks in her arms hardly weighed an ounce.
> 
>  

.

 

.

 

“Wait, three hundred yen  _each_?” Daiki hisses under his breath, putting the apple back as if it had scalded him, “What kind of classist bullshit...?”

 

He trails off in the process of turning around, squinting at the neighbouring fruit displays suspiciously. For a second he could have sworn he’d caught someone’s eye, watching him from around the persimmons, but no one is there. Normally that kind of disappearing act crap would make him suspect it’s Tetsu, but he got the distinct impression that this time his stalker was much taller...

 

Shaking his head dismissively, he walks away from the pretentious pyramid of overpriced apples, giving up on produce for now. He can feel an annoying prickle of guilt in his stomach, as he remembers Tetsu admonishing him for relying too much on pre-packaged meals and not giving Yui enough fresh fruit and junk.  _‘Even if you don’t know how to cook from scratch, you can still make sure she’s getting enough vitamins in her diet.’_ But with this level of highway robbery at even the local supermarket, he fumes, it’s just not realistic.

 

Frozen vegetables prove to be more forgiving, thankfully. Though he thinks, as he loads up on bags of carrots and snap peas, that Yui might not be as grateful for them as he is, and convincing her to eat them when he can’t do anything more interesting than warm them up in the microwave is going to be a whole other battle. Usually his best bet is to eat them in front of her and exaggerate his enjoyment of them. He’s probably eaten more green vegetables in the past year or so than in his entire adolescent life prior, just to prove to his daughter that they aren’t actually poison.

 

“If you’re making a stir-fry, I’d recommend using cabbage,” A familiar deep voice cuts into his thoughts, as he’s scanning a package of frozen broccoli for microwave instructions.

 

He jumps and whips around, clutching the package to his chest, “What?”

 

“Freezing takes most of the nutrients out of broccoli,” Kagami says matter-of-factly, as if he didn’t just sneak up on Daiki and give him a fucking heart attack, “Not to mention the flavor. I’d use cabbage instead.”

 

“I’m not making a stir-fry,” Daiki mutters diffidently, throwing the frozen broccoli into his basket. He doesn’t say ‘ _I don’t know how’,_ and hopes Kagami doesn’t infer it.

 

Now that he’s gotten over the shock, he’s not actually that surprised to see Kagami here; he’d already had a feeling he was being watched, and the rest is just a matter of course. Of course the guy couldn’t wait until the next time they dueled to stick his long, shapely nose back in Daiki’s business.

 

“Then you want to go with fresh broccoli,” Kagami continues, undeterred. He’s looking Daiki over with a kind of casual interest, not judging him (yet), and as Daiki shoots a furtive glance at the bulging bags of fresh vegetables in  _his_ basket, he finds himself thinking he doesn’t want to give him a reason to start.

 

“Thanks, but I think I’ve got it,” he says, warding off any more well-meaning suggestions, and starts to turn away from him.

 

“Um,” Kagami interjects, and Daiki stops, watching indecision flicker across that illegally attractive face, “You haven’t called…” He trails off, seeming to realize how that sounds, and lowers his strange red eyes to stare at the cheap linoleum floor.

 

“So you noticed,” Daiki says coldly. Instantly, he regrets it --  _what the hell for_? -- and attempts to soften the blow, despite himself, “...It’s only been like three days, man.”

 

“I know, but --” Kagami starts, before seeming to rethink whatever he was going to say, “I was gonna ask...if you’re not doing anything later this week, if you wanted to --”

 

“I’ve already given you my terms,” Daiki cuts in, trying to look as aloof as he sounds, and not show any second thoughts that could be used against him.

 

“I know,” Kagami repeats, holding up his hands in a placating way, “But one of those terms was a one-on-one match, right? I was just thinking, if you’re not busy, say, tomorrow night…?”

 

“I am busy,” Daiki says, and it’s the truth, and for some reason, he’s kind of sorry that it is. Especially when Kagami’s spirits appear to dampen at his blunt response.

 

“Okay then, how about Wednesday?”

 

Daiki shakes his head regretfully. He’s still not sure why  _regretfully_ , but he thinks, just maybe, that Kagami notices this time.

 

“Thursday?

 

“I can’t,” Daiki says, looking away so he doesn’t have to see Kagami’s disappointment again. He feels like more and more of a dick with each refusal, but he doesn’t think he has much of a choice.

 

“Man, your class schedule must be even crazier than mine,” Kagami says at last. It’s a loaded question, masquerading as a statement, and Daiki sees right through it.

 

“I’m not taking any classes...right now,” he adds, after a moment’s hesitation, seeing the way Kagami’s split eyebrows start to furrow in confusion.

 

“Work, then?” he asks, apparently deciding not to pass judgment on Daiki’s admission one way or the other.

 

“Yeah,” Daiki says, because it’s true, but probably not the way Kagami’s imagining it. Most nights he’s done with his various paying jobs by six pm, but strictly speaking, he’s never finished working. His only full-time job is the one he can’t quit.

 

Kagami still looks kind of disappointed, but accepts that short answer as explanation enough.

 

“Well, that’s good…” he says, somewhat awkwardly, seeming to flounder for the appropriate response as his large hands that made him such a threat on the basketball court fidget anxiously in front of him. Daiki’s eyes fall on his long, lean fingers, flexing and pulling against each other.  “Um...what do you do?”

 

Daiki shrugs, and decides to throw him a bone --  _not_ that he’s thinking of...boning, or anything. He’s also not thinking about what else they say about guys who have big hands...he’s  _not._

 

“A fuckton of menial labor,” he says brusquely, shoving the thought that he’s definitely not having aside, “Usually a warehouse job, but sometimes I do construction work, scrap metal salvage, auto repair…”

 

“Auto repair, really?” Kagami blinks in surprise, looking him up and down quizzically as though expecting to spot a monkey wrench somewhere on his person.

 

Daiki shrugs again, a touch defensively, “My boss at the scrapyard knew this mechanic who used to sell him old cars. It’s sort of under the table, but it pays pretty well.”

 

“Damn,” Kagami says, “And weekly streetball on top of all that...you’re a busy guy. Are you saving for something?”

 

Daiki shifts uncomfortably, and averts his gaze, “You could say that.”

 

Truthfully, whatever money he makes just seems to slip through his fingers as fast as he can earn it, with rent and bills and other expenses stacking up ominously at every turn. But he isn’t about to try and explain that to Kagami, with his basket full of fresh produce and his crazy schedule of college courses, and his  _hobby_ of playing the high-stakes games of gambling basketball that put food on Daiki’s table more often than not.

 

Kagami waits, until it becomes obvious that Daiki isn’t planning to elaborate, and then shifts his weight from foot to foot apprehensively.  _His legs are so long…_ Daiki finds himself thinking hazily,  _He’s like sixty percent leg -- oh my God, shut_ ** _up._**

 

“So um...are there any days when you’re not as busy?”

 

Daiki hesitates. Technically, no, there shouldn’t be, his primary occupation should take up every waking moment of his life (and most sleeping ones), but assuming he could get a babysitter one afternoon...assuming he could convince Tetsu or Kise to watch Yui for a couple hours...

 

“Weekends, maybe,” he says, covertly, like he’s admitting something criminal. It’s shameful, it’s thrilling, and for a moment he imagines a tiny window opening up before him, promising a taste of freedom from his routine of scraping and maintaining, desperately treading to keep his head above water. It feels like that’s all he’s been doing, for the past two years.

 

“Weekends… This weekend?” Kagami asks, and goddammit, there’s so much hope and excitement on his stupid face that Daiki doesn’t have the heart to crush it. Still...

 

“Maybe,” he repeats.  _Hopefully,_ he wants to add, assuming he can pull this off, assuming he can get away…he doesn’t know what the chances are of that happening.

 

“Give me your number,” Kagami requests, much the same as he  _requested_ that Daiki go out with him, three days ago, his words tumbling over each other in a rush as he formulates a plan, “I’ll let you know when I’m off this weekend...if we’re both free we can meet at the street court, and  _after I win,_ I’ll take you out for a drink, my treat. Sound good?”

 

Daiki’s surprised, yet again, by how forward he’s being, how assured he sounds of his own victory, and he’s even more surprised when a breathless “Okay,” slips out unbidden in response. Just like that.

 

He’s not prepared for the way Kagami’s whole face lights up, practically glowing with pleasure and determination, and as his hand slips into his pocket to obediently retrieve his phone, Daiki realizes with a kind of creeping dismay that he’s in deep shit. They haven’t even done anything (yet), and he’s already fucking whipped. God help him.

 

“So what exactly are you saving for?” Kagami prompts, still grinning broadly, as Daiki unlocks his phone and prays he isn’t turning as red as he feels like he is. He’s standing right next to a freezer but his face is on fucking _fire_... “New car?”

 

“Nah, I’ve already got --” he breaks off abruptly as he looks down at the screen, all the flustered heat draining to leave a chill of dread in the pit of his stomach, “Shit.”

 

“What?”

 

“It’s ten to seven _. Fuck_ , I’m late,” Shoving his phone back in his pocket, he grabs the handle of his shopping basket, only sparing a second to glance back, “Sorry Kagami, I have to go, like,  _right_ now --”

 

“But --! What about…?”

 

“I’ll text you later,” Daiki says hurriedly, waving him off as he turns to leave, not realizing what he’s implying, what he’s  _promising,_ with that simple statement.

 

.

 

.

 

 

 

> Though they’d barely spoken two words to each other since he arrived, Tetsuya still got the impression that Aomine-kun was grateful for his company...he’d invited him over in the first place, after all. He himself didn’t mind the prolonged spell of quiet at all; it gave him time to think, and catch up on his studies in peace. But, at some point, all comfortable silences had to be broken, and he supposed he would rather end this one on his terms.
> 
>  
> 
> “Have you heard from Momoi-san at all, since…?” he prompted, looking up from his reading and letting the question hang unfinished in the air. A dreadful habit he’d noticed he was picking up from spending such a long time in Aomine-kun’s orbit, but he supposed there were worse attributes of his he could acquire than poor communication skills.
> 
>  
> 
> Aomine-kun grunted something charitably affirmative, but he wasn’t looking at Tetsuya. His gaze was focused intently on the baby in his lap, fast asleep and clutching his shirt in her tiny fist. He still held her half-empty bottle of formula loosely in one hand, leaning it against one bent knee as he reclined in the same spot he’d been in for the past half hour, not talking, just feeding his daughter in silence while Tetsuya swiped through a PDF of his assigned article beside him.
> 
>  
> 
> “Once or twice,” he said eventually, “She Skyped me after she got to Kyoto, but it’s kind of been radio silence since then.”
> 
>  
> 
> “And you’ve been getting on alright by yourself?” Tetsuya asked, shutting off his tablet and glancing emphatically around the room. “Since you’ve found a place, and all?”
> 
>  
> 
> It was a rather bare-bones excuse for an LDK apartment, admittedly, with only three pieces of proper furniture adorning it so far; a naked futon on the floor in the single bedroom, an unfinished but sturdy wooden crib, and the secondhand tatami sofa on which they were currently sitting. Still, it far exceeded Tetsuya’s expectations, when he’d pictured the kind of living arrangements Aomine-kun could likely aspire to on minimum wage...mostly because it was so clean. He hadn’t yet gone around checking every crevice for signs of mold or rot, but one could usually get a fair idea just from the smell. All in all, he thought Aomine-kun had chosen well...or perhaps had just gotten extremely lucky.
> 
>  
> 
> “Sure,” Aomine-kun shrugged, seeming to take care not to disturb his sleeping daughter as he did, “I mean...it’s uh…” he cleared his throat, sweeping his narrow eyes around their surroundings critically, “It’s not  _glamorous_ or anything, but whatever. Beggars can’t be choosers, right?”
> 
>  
> 
> Tetsuya watched his expression change pensively, analyzing as he often did, with some measure of fond exasperation. While fairly uncomplicated in word and deed, Aomine-kun still tended to stump most people who didn’t understand his intentions, but fortunately, Tetsuya counted himself as one person who did.
> 
>  
> 
> For instance, one thing Aomine-kun was certainly not known for was his humility...at least at first glance. But Tetsuya was well-versed in his language by now, and could see through the defensive front that he was in fact feeling self-conscious, bracing for embarrassment. He might even extrapolate from there to say that Aomine-kun was seeking validation, from the first person to see the humble homestead he had procured for himself and his progeny. In short, the backhanded criticism was his way of asking Tetsuya’s opinion.
> 
>  
> 
> “I think it’s a fine start,” he said at last, after taking some time to carefully choose his words. A fair assessment, he thought, and just enough praise to reassure Aomine-kun without feeding into his rapacious ego. “Though a table and chairs wouldn’t go amiss, maybe some curtains and other homely touches…”
> 
>  
> 
> “Hey, I’m working on it,” Aomine-kun retorted, but there was no real heat behind it. If anything, he looked relieved, “Anyway, I never have time to sit down and eat, and I still can’t cook for shit.”
> 
>  
> 
> “Hm,” Tetsuya hummed thoughtfully, “Are you working on that, too?”
> 
>  
> 
> “Not...really,” Aomine-kun grumbled, scratching his ear with his free hand, “I’ve been really busy lately.”
> 
>  
> 
> “I know,” Tetsuya conceded; credit where credit was due,“You look better now, though, than the last time we spoke -- what was it, two weeks ago? I kept expecting you to fall asleep on your feet.”
> 
>  
> 
> Aomine-kun barked a laugh, and somehow didn’t rouse his daughter in the process, though she did stir a little as his chest jolted under her cheek.
> 
>  
> 
> “Yeah, ‘cause two weeks ago Yui was waking me up every half hour screaming her head off. Now it’s more like every three hours, so I’m sleeping great,” he cracked a sarcastic smirk, and Tetsuya thought it might have been the first smile he’d seen from him in almost a month.
> 
>  
> 
> He glanced at the slumbering baby nestled innocuously on Aomine-kun’s stomach and frowned. He didn’t think he’d heard her cry all that much, but that might have been more of a testament to how rarely he saw her than to her being particularly quiet.  _She’s Aomine-kun’s child...of course she wouldn’t be._
> 
>  
> 
> “Hey...Tetsu?”
> 
>  
> 
> “Yes?” Tetsuya replied distractedly, studying Yui’s scrunched up eyes and chubby cheeks with the same mild interest he used when observing strangers’ behavior.
> 
>  
> 
> “I’ve got um...a favor to ask.”
> 
>  
> 
> He looked up at that, curiously. Though Aomine-kun had a reputation, especially according to Momoi-san, for being routinely selfish and needy, it was very rare indeed for him to request anything of Tetsuya. He didn’t seem to enjoy coming to him for favors, for any reason...this ought to be good.
> 
>  
> 
> “I’ve been hearing about these games of, uh…” he seemed to search for a way to put it delicately, and promptly gave up trying, “‘Lucrative’ streetball that are happening across town, a couple of my coworkers were talking about going to see one...”
> 
>  
> 
> “Lucrative, as in...gambling?” Tetsuya interjected, keeping the reproachfulness firmly out of his voice.
> 
>  
> 
> “Um...yeah, I guess,” he shrugged quickly, trying and failing to break eye contact, unable to escape Tetsuya’s gaze, “So I was wondering, if you’d be okay with --”
> 
>  
> 
> “You don’t need to ask my permission to play, Aomine-kun,” Tetsuya said, though he doubted that was the actual issue here, “We’re not teammates anymore.”
> 
>  
> 
> “No, that’s not it,” Aomine-kun confirmed impatiently, shaking his head, “The thing is...the games take place on Friday nights, and Yui’s daycare closes at seven. I can’t leave her by herself, so I was going to ask if maybe you could…”
> 
>  
> 
> Tetsuya just blinked at him, taken aback. Alright, so he hadn’t quite expected this favor to consist of babysitting...though in hindsight, he probably should have seen that coming. And, granted, he was starting his undergrad in Early Childhood Education, but he hadn’t really counted on it being  _this_ early.
> 
>  
> 
> “You want me to watch the baby,” he stated, calmly and deliberately, “While you go off and play an illegal game of gambling basketball. Just to be clear, that is what you’re asking for here.”
> 
>  
> 
> “Yeah...something like that,” Aomine-kun said. He could have at least had the decency to look properly chagrined about it.
> 
>  
> 
> “You do realize my roommates are going to be home during that time,” Tetsuya said darkly.
> 
>  
> 
> “So? Midorima should be fine, you said he only ever leaves his room to take a piss anyway.”
> 
>  
> 
> “I most certainly did  _not_ say that,” Tetsuya argued, “But you’re right, it’s not Midorima-kun I’m worried about.”
> 
>  
> 
> “You really think Kise is going to cause problems?” he sounded surprised, which told Tetsuya exactly how little he knew about Kise-kun and children.
> 
>  
> 
> “For me? Yes.”
> 
>  
> 
> Aomine-kun sat up abruptly. To better convince Tetsuya, or to set down the bottle he’d been rolling absently between his hands, Tetsuya didn’t know, and it didn’t matter, because as soon as he moved, Yui squirmed and let out an earsplitting wail, clinging to his shirt and screwing up her little red face in outrage.
> 
>  
> 
> Tetsuya recoiled instinctively, startled by the sheer volume of displeasure those tiny lungs were capable of producing, but Aomine-kun didn’t even flinch. He just sighed and scooped her out of his lap, tucking her against his shoulder and lightly patting her back, swaying slowly as he did and making soothing shushing sounds. Tetsuya stared, despite himself, at the sudden transformation from petulant teenager to attentive parent right before his eyes, like a switch had been flipped that he didn’t know existed.
> 
>  
> 
> After a few moments, Yui stopped screaming and gave a wet, hiccuping burp, before settling, completely pacified, against Aomine-kun’s shoulder and presumably falling right back asleep. Aomine-kun exhaled with relief, and then glanced at Tetsuya resignedly.
> 
>  
> 
> Tetsuya brought his knuckles up to his lips and resumed considering his options. Options that Aomine-kun no longer had.
> 
>  
> 
> “...Just this Friday night?”
> 
>  
> 
> “Right,” Aomine-kun nodded, and Tetsuya could see him reining in his emotions, trying for casual and noncommittal, for all the good it would do. Tetsuya wasn’t fooled, he knew how much this would mean to him. The break in his cycle of monotony, the chance to let loose and do something he was actually good at, to play the game he loved while also fulfilling a practical need; two birds with one stone. A moment of escape. That was the real favor he was calling in here.
> 
>  
> 
> And if it did end up just being a one-time thing, Tetsuya would eat his house slippers. No, he knew full well that the moment Aomine-kun got a taste of his old love, this was going to become a routine.
> 
>  
> 
> But still, he found himself taking a deep, forbearing breath, and relinquishing it slowly.
> 
>  
> 
> “Alright. I can do that for you.”
> 
>  

.

 

.

 

It’s not the first time Daiki has slipped through the gridded glass double doors just under the wire, but he probably cut it a lot closer today than is strictly acceptable. Not that Yui’s caretakers would dump her on the street the moment their facilities closed, but they would be displeased. And they would no doubt take out their displeasure on Daiki’s wallet, which is something he just can’t afford right now. ...Or ever, really.

 

“Sorry I’m late,” he mutters over his shoulder as he stoops to collect Yui’s things, half-listening to her happy babbling about stickers while he wrestles her uncooperative feet into her shoes. He only notices that she stuck quite a few of them onto his sleeve when he leads her outside to the car, holding her tiny hand in his.

 

“What are these?” he laughs, peeling a sparkling rainbow off of his shoulder and holding it out to her.

 

“Glitter stickers!” she exclaims ecstatically, reaching for the rainbow and pinching it between her finger and thumb, “Hitoka shared ‘em!”

 

“Did you say thank you to Hitoka?” Daiki asks as he picks her up, sitting her down in her carseat and fumbling with the buckles.

 

“Yep,” Yui mumbles, pinning the rainbow sticker to the car door frame. Daiki’s surprised it stays there.

 

Satisfied that she’s buckled in, he ruffles her hair and steps back, “Ready to go home?”

 

“Mhm. Can we have apple juice?”

 

“Apple juice isn’t dinner, Yui,” Daiki says seriously, and she giggles, “You can have apple juice  _with_ your dinner, if you also eat your vegetables.”

 

He closes the car door on her sound of protest, and slides behind the wheel. It takes three tries to convince the engine to start, and he remembers Kagami’s comment about saving up for a new car.  _Yeah, right_ _._

 

In fact, Kagami’s voice continues to infiltrate his thoughts for the rest of the evening. When he’s dumping the bag of broccoli he bought into a microwave-safe bowl, he hears him suggesting cabbage instead. Assuming Daiki would know how to make a fucking stir-fry, or even what he's supposed to do with frozen cabbage.

 

When he’s pouring Yui’s apple juice, he remembers him saying he’ll take Daiki out for a drink after he beats him. Like it’s just a fact that he is going to beat him, sooner or later...Daiki would like to see him try.

 

Actually...Daiki would  _love_ to see that.

 

And finally, when Yui’s been put to bed in her crib that seems to be getting smaller by the day, and he collapses bonelessly onto his own mattress across the room, taking out his phone to set his alarm, that deep voice comes back to him one more time.

 

 _‘You haven’t called…_ ’

 

Thumbing absently through his contacts, he selects Kagami’s number and pauses, his stomach feeling inexplicably tight, twisting itself in knots as he stares at the message box, like he’s fucking twelve again. He grits his teeth.

 

**To Kagami**

**9:24 pm**

 

_Hey. It’s Aomine._

 

He hits send before he can change his mind, and rolls over to go to sleep. No more distractions, no more second thoughts. He's done.

 

**To Kagami**

**9:45 pm**

 

_Daiki._

 

TBC

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm like...training myself to write longer and longer chapters, it's the flashbacks I think. I still had to cut a whole scene out of this because it just didn't jive with the tone, I'll probably add it in later, it's already a lot of exposition as it is.  
> Well, my wrist hates me, but we got two successive updates in one month, hopefully I can build from there.  
> Comments and kudos give me life, feed the author!


	3. Chapter 3

“Your fiancé couldn’t make it tonight?”

 

Kagami turns, the fine silver chain around his neck swinging, and blinks at Daiki in confusion.

 

“What?”

 

Daiki makes a flitting gesture at the ring hanging from the chain, “Your English friend with the matching jewelry.”

 

“He’s not my fiancé,” Kagami says firmly, still looking confused, “And he’s not English, he’s from Akita.”

 

Daiki wants to roll his eyes, but on the other hand, it is more fun to tease a guy who’s oblivious to the joke.

 

“I meant he _speaks_ English, obviously. And you mean to tell me that’s not an engagement ring?” He smirks, and Kagami finally seems to catch on that he’s not being serious.

 

“No,” he grins fleetingly, as though relieved, “Tatsuya’s just...a close friend, we’re not together.”

 

“I was gonna say,” Daiki simpers with pretend concern, leaning in with his hands deep in his pockets, until they’re almost nose to nose, “What’s a steady guy like that doing picking up dates on the side?”

 

Instantly, Kagami goes scarlet and stumbles back a step, putting distance between them and wetting his lips, as though trying to get ahold of himself.

 

“We...haven’t gone on a date yet,” he points out faintly, dropping his gaze to the faded spray paint beneath the thick red soles of his Nikes.

 

Daiki shrugs, and takes a step back of his own, “Well, it’s almost the weekend...better bring your A-game tomorrow if you want to fix that.”

 

“I’m bringing it tonight,” Kagami shoots back, and Daiki blinks in surprise at the ferocity behind it, “So get ready.”

 

Meeting that hard, determined glare shouldn’t send a chill all the way down to Daiki’s fucking knees, but he has to scuff his shoes against the pavement to hide the tremor all the same.

 

He shakes it off quickly, fighting against the smile pulling at his lips.

 

“Yeah, I’m holding my breath over here,” he drawls, and turns on his heel to head for the center line.

 

They play three rounds this time. The first two are fairly short, and fairly close, with Daiki’s team only pulling ahead in the final stretch, still securing their victory by a respectable margin. The games themselves are faster and more engaging than if a certain spring-loaded redhead hadn’t been playing, but frankly, nothing to write home about.

 

The third round, however, seems to drag on for hours, and this time Kagami seems to be pulling out all the stops, refusing to give a single inch and rallying his team to try to keep the ball away from Daiki at all costs. But despite the effort, Daiki still comes out on top, putting an end to the game with one last shattering dunk that shakes the backboard on its frame and nearly pulls the rusty hoop clean off of it.

 

Imayoshi’s whistle shrills at the same time that Kagami lets fly a startling English curse word, one even Daiki recognizes for its vulgar popularity, and storms off the court without looking at him. For a second Daiki just stands there, at a bit of a loss, and watches him go.

 

But he can’t shake the confusion of that jarring change of attitude, and after collecting a rather impressive wad of cash for his triple win  -- apparently quite a lot of people were betting on Kagami this time around -- he follows him to the benches.

 

He’s not sure what he’s going to say if Kagami expects him to...what, make him feel better or some shit? He’s always been terrible at that sort of thing. Comforting the losers just isn’t his style, and it comes across as horribly forced and patronizing whenever he tries.

 

But Kagami, it seems, does not require comfort.

 

“You just wait,” he snaps before Daiki can speak, swinging his bag over his shoulder harshly and turning to face him, “You just wait...fucking Japanese streetball…”

 

Daiki bristles, “What’s with that? I grew up on Japanese streetball, what’s wrong with it?”

 

Kagami lets out a deep breath and shakes his head, “Nothing. I just...shit, the style is totally different here, I thought I was used to it,  but… The way you play is actually more American than any of the rest of these guys.” He jerks his thumb at his defeated teammates gathering up their belongings in the background.

 

“Yeah?” Daiki smirks, because that kind of makes sense, in a way. No wonder they’re such a good fit. “Then you should have no trouble playing one-on-one against me tomorrow, right?”

 

With a swooping feeling in his gut, he realizes that saying it like that kind of makes it a promise. Too late to take it back, he’s going to have to really try and deliver...and he’s not sure how on-board Tetsu is going to be with that. He still has yet to ask him. _Well, whatever...I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it…_

 

Kagami looks up, taken aback for a moment, and then inclines his head in a short, affirming nod, “Right.”

 

“‘Course it’s a stretch to say you’ll have a chance of beating me, even then,” Daiki continues lazily, stretching his arms over his head with an exaggerated yawn. Maybe flexing a little more than is strictly necessary when he knows Kagami’s watching, but hey, he’s never claimed to be modest.

 

Kagami’s eyes, blazing with renewed hunger and resolve, sweep over him unabashedly as he stands a little straighter and widens his stance.

 

“You just wait,” he repeats, “I had an off day today, but you haven’t seen anything yet.”

 

“Yeah yeah,” Daiki says, waving a hand at him airily as he turns his back, “Make sure you can back that up, or I’ll start thinking you’re all talk.”

 

“Hey.” Daiki stops mid-step, and looks at him over his shoulder. Kagami flashes him a grin. “Wear something nice for your date tomorrow, _Daiki._ ”

 

Shit, Daiki’s totally not ready to be on a first-name basis with this guy. He promptly chokes on air, and, coughing violently, stumbles off the court to prevent any further damage, Kagami’s laughter ringing in his ears as he struggles to hide his burning face.

 

In fact, he swears that deep, full-bodied laugh follows him all the way to his car, and he realizes with horror that even at his expense, it’s a surprisingly pleasant sound.

 

.

 

.

 

 

> “Those dickwads are staring again,” Dai-chan snarled, his hands clenching into fists as he glared across the courtyard at a group of athletic-looking students, presumably from the track team, pointing and whispering with their heads close together. “I’ll kick their asses.”
> 
>  
> 
> “Don’t,” Satsuki said, reaching out with the intent of placing her hand on his arm, before lowering it halfway to droop dejectedly at her side, “It’s fine. I’m used to it now.”
> 
>  
> 
> “It’s not fine, it’s none of their business,” Dai-chan snapped indignantly, “And you’ve got enough to worry about without being gawked at by the likes of _them_.”
> 
>  
> 
> “Dai-chan, honestly, I don’t care about that,” Satsuki insisted, crossing her arms over the protruding swell of her belly. There was no hiding her condition now, and it seemed the last third or so of the school that hadn’t already guessed or been told had finally caught on that she was pregnant. And didn’t they let her know it.
> 
>  
> 
> “You don’t hear all the shit they’re saying about you,” Dai-chan retorted, shoving his hands in his pockets furiously, “‘Cause they won’t say the worst of it to your face. I’ve heard it all, and I’m sick to death of the staring.”
> 
>  
> 
> “They’re not staring at _you,_ ” Satsuki sighed.
> 
>  
> 
> Dai-chan stopped, and gave her a hard look. For a long moment he didn’t say anything.
> 
>  
> 
> “I wouldn’t care if they were!” he burst out finally, “I’ve never given a fuck what people think about _me!_ But I can’t stand them saying those things, like they’ve got any idea what you --!”
> 
>  
> 
> “Dai-chan,” Satsuki pleaded, “It’s really...touching that you’d go so far to defend me, but you need to calm down, you’re going to get us in trouble.”
> 
>  
> 
> “More trouble than you’re already in?” A snide voice cut in, as one of the larger track team guys casually strolled past them, looking pointedly at Satsuki’s midsection, “Might want to start getting your shirts up a size or five, Momoi-chan, your waistline is showing.”
> 
>  
> 
> One of the guy’s buddies clapped him on the shoulder with a snort, leering at her over his shoulder, “So when’s the due date? Should we worry about your water breaking in class yet?”
> 
>  
> 
> “Hey, back the fuck off,” Dai-chan said sharply, wedging himself firmly between Satsuki and her tormentors. Dai-chan was not short, by any means, he easily looked down on the lot of them, but the track guys were brawnier, and he was outnumbered. Satsuki bit her lip.
> 
>  
> 
> “Hang on, I know you,” one of them sneered, “You’re the hotshot star of the basketball team, or something. Are you the baby daddy, then? Looking forward to diapers?”
> 
>  
> 
> “Fuck you.”
> 
>  
> 
> “How’d that even happen, anyway?”
> 
>  
> 
> “That’s what happens when you stick your dick in too much easy p--”
> 
>  
> 
> “Dai-chan, no!”
> 
>  
> 
> Before she could try and stop him -- and she didn’t know that she would have even been able to -- Dai-chan had already swung a punch, his fist connecting solidly with the guy’s jaw. The guy staggered back, spitting blood and muffled curses, but his teammates were on Dai-chan in a second, wrestling his arms behind his back and kneeing him hard in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him.
> 
>  
> 
> Satsuki clapped her hands over her mouth, watching Dai-chan gasp without taking in air, wanting to help, wanting to scream, but her body was paralyzed with shock. And, she realized, even if she did try to intervene, she had more than just her own safety to think about here.
> 
>  
> 
> “Well well,” the largest of the track guys panted, meeting Dai-chan’s savage glare with a smirk and sweeping his hair back from his face, “Mommy’s a slut and daddy’s a thug, who would’ve guessed?”
> 
>  
> 
> “I would’ve,” his injured teammate grunted, gingerly dabbing at his split lip that was already starting to swell and slur his speech.
> 
>  
> 
> “Next time I’ll kick your fucking teeth in,” Dai-chan grit out fiercely, struggling against the hold the others had on his arms. Even though he had been subdued rather quickly, it still took two fairly muscular guys to restrain him, and they didn’t seem to be having an easy time of it.
> 
>  
> 
> “There won't be a next time,” the guy said coldly, lowering his hand, “You got in a lucky shot, it won’t happen again.”
> 
>  
> 
> Dai-chan barked a laugh, twisting his arms in his captors’ grip, “Right. Meanwhile you need three guys to back you up so you don’t have to get your hands dirty, how is that a fair fight?”
> 
>  
> 
> “I don’t want to fight you,” the guy sneered disdainfully.
> 
>  
> 
> “Yeah,” his taller teammate said, leaning down to Dai-chan’s eye level, which he could only do because he was currently doubled over, “We just want an apology, and we’ll let you go. No hard feelings.”
> 
>  
> 
> “Asshole,” Dai-chan spat.
> 
>  
> 
> “Dai-chan,” Satsuki cut in warningly, watching the muscles in the others’ arms tense.
> 
>  
> 
> “Listen to your girlfriend, _Dai-chan_ ,” the tall guy simpered, while his teammates laughed and jeered.
> 
>  
> 
> “Bastard,” Dai-chan continued, unhindered, and picking up steam, “Shithead. Fuckface...”
> 
>  
> 
> “Yikes, you kiss your mother with that mouth?”
> 
>  
> 
> “Dai-chan, _please,”_ Satsuki begged.
> 
>  
> 
> “Douchebag. Cocksu -- _fuck!_ ” he broke off as the guy with the busted lip pulled back his fist and punched him in the face. Hard.
> 
>  
> 
> “No --!” Satsuki gasped, abandoning caution and trying to push his attacker off of him, but the guy was already turning away. Blood was streaming from Dai-chan’s nose and dripping copiously into his open mouth.
> 
>  
> 
> “There,” the injured guy said with finality, “Now we’re even. You could’ve had it the easy way, but I think I like this look on you better.”
> 
>  
> 
> “Hopefully your bastard kid doesn’t inherit your awful temper,” the taller one added, slicking back his hair once again and turning on Satsuki, “I’m sure he’ll make a really _responsible_ father-figure, Momoi-chan. Great choice.”
> 
>  
> 
> He waved a hand, and his lackeys finally released Dai-chan’s arms and quickly backed out of range. But Dai-chan wasn’t fighting anymore. He was crouched and clutching his probably broken nose, a combination of swears and threats spewing from his bloodstained mouth, as his manic eyes watched the track team saunter away across the courtyard.
> 
>  
> 
> “Oh, Dai-chan…” Satsuki sighed as she knelt at his side, digging around for a pack of tissues in her bag and tearing it open, “What did you go and do that for?”
> 
>  
> 
> “They called you a… They were --” Dai-chan stammered, attempting to stem the flow of blood with the wad of tissues she pressed into his hand.
> 
>  
> 
> “There were _four_ of them,” Satsuki pointed out, helping him, unnecessarily, to his feet, “And they were _huge_ , did you really think you could take them all by yourself?”
> 
>  
> 
> “Maybe,” he mumbled angrily, averting his gaze.
> 
>  
> 
> Summoning patience, Satsuki took a deep breath, counting down in her head as she let it out gradually.
> 
>  
> 
> “I...understand that you were upset...” she began, “But --”
> 
>  
> 
> “You don’t have to give me that bullshit, Satsuki,” Dai-chan interrupted, “Just say what you mean.”
> 
>  
> 
> Satsuki opened her mouth, then closed it, shaking her head in exasperation.
> 
>  
> 
> “That was really stupid, just now,” she said flatly. Dai-chan started to protest, but she waved it off with one hand, “It was impulsive, and reckless, and completely uncalled for. You could have just walked away, those guys didn’t know what they were talking about.”
> 
>  
> 
> “I know, but --”
> 
>  
> 
> “If you’re really serious about this,” she went on, wrapping her arms around her swollen stomach to indicate what she meant, “Then you need to be above guys like that.”
> 
>  
> 
> “You don’t seriously think I’m --?” Dai-chan began hotly.
> 
>  
> 
> “Let me finish.” Dai-chan fell silent, turning the blood-soaked clump of tissues over with a look of distaste. “People are going to give you shit for this, people aren’t going to understand, that’s just the way it is. But you _can’t_ stoop to their level and put yourself in danger for no reason, especially when you’ve got someone else’s well-being to think about.”
> 
>  
> 
> “I wasn’t in danger,” Dai-chan muttered. Satsuki wasn’t sure if he was saying it to reassure her or to salvage his own ego, and that fact bothered her.
> 
>  
> 
> “Maybe not _this_ time,” she snapped, “Because we’re on school grounds and those guys weren’t going to try anything with the teachers right there. But in the real world, in the _adult_ world, if you’d pulled a stunt like that, you could have been seriously hurt, or worse.. _._ ”
> 
>  
> 
> Dai-chan didn’t say anything, still looking away from her, still dutifully keeping pressure on his nose.
> 
>  
> 
> “Dai-chan?” Satsuki prodded, “Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”
> 
>  
> 
> Letting out his breath in a rush, Dai-chan glanced at her once and nodded grudgingly, “Yeah. I got it.”
> 
>  
> 
> Wanting to press further, wanting to hammer the lesson into his thick skull until something finally stuck, but knowing that lecturing him excessively tended to get her nowhere, Satsuki sighed and tugged lightly on his arm.
> 
>  
> 
> “Come on...let’s get you to the nurse.”
> 
>  

.

 

.

 

“Tetsu, I need a favor.”

 

Tetsu raises his eyebrows at him, and steps back to let him inside, “Why don’t I like the sound of that?”

 

“I haven’t even told you what it is yet,” Daiki protests, nodding to the blond figure slouched on the sofa. “Hey, Kise.”

 

“Aominecchi,” Kise replies, waving a hand absently, his tawny eyes glued to his phone.

 

“Shoes, Aomine-kun,” Tetsu is chiding insistently, blocking his path with outstretched arms, though Daiki could probably have walked right over him and thought nothing of it.

 

Grumbling, he reaches down to untie his shoes, and kicks them off, “There, happy?”

 

“Not particularly,” Tetsu says, drumming his pale, slender fingers on his upper arm reproachfully.

 

“Oh come on,” Daiki starts, in response to his premature disapproval, “When do I ever ask you for anything?”

 

This, apparently, was the wrong thing to say, because Tetsu’s eyes flare hot, his serene expression becoming something more like a glower. Sometimes, with Tetsu, it’s a bit hard to tell where the line is or when it’s been crossed, but Daiki has had more than enough experience being on the receiving end of that look to realize when he might have slipped up.

 

“Now that you mention it,” Tetsu cups his chin mock-thoughtfully, “It has been a _weekly_ occurrence the past few months.”

 

Daiki tries to wave him off with a snort, undeterred, “Like Yui gives you any trouble, you make it sound like I’m making you watch a gremlin --”

 

“That’s not the point,” Tetsu interrupts, fixing him with his inscrutable, clear blue gaze, “It’s not my personal aspiration to be your unpaid babysitter, Aomine-kun, nor is it my job. I’m already doing you a considerable favor as it is, because you’re my friend, and you asked me to.” His expression cools somewhat, and he goes on in a softer voice, “Just keep that in mind before making any more demands of me, and don’t say you _never_ ask me for anything.”

 

“I’m not...it’s just…” Daiki breaks off with a sigh, shoulders slumping in defeat, “Fine. You’re right. ...Where is Yui, anyway? Asleep already?”

 

“I don’t know what you mean by ‘already’,” Tetsu says, “It’s nearly midnight.”

 

“Seriously?” Daiki checks the clock, and sure enough, it’s half past eleven, “Shit, why didn’t you text me or something?”

 

A tiny, annoyingly knowing smile lifts the corner of Tetsu’s mouth ever so slightly, “I figured you must have lost track of time.”

 

“Well...yeah, I didn’t think...the first two rounds went by so fast, I thought…”

 

Tetsu just shrugs, “Time flies when you’re having fun. Was the new guy playing again?”

 

There’s something weird about his tone, and there’s a stifled snicker from the couch as Kise covers his mouth with a hand.

 

“Shut up,” Daiki scowls in his general direction, which only makes him laugh harder, thumbs tapping busily on his phone screen, “Yeah, Kagami was playing, that’s kind of...what the favor is for.”

 

Tetsu’s eyebrows rise, just a fraction, “Oh, it’s to do with your new friend? I assumed it was going to be about Yui…”

 

“It is,” Daiki presses on, shaking off the rather unsettling stress on the word ‘friend’, “See I kind of told him I’d play one-on-one against him this weekend...tomorrow...but I need someone to watch --”

 

“But didn’t you just play against him today?” Kise pipes up, slinging an arm over the back of the couch to better prop himself up, peering at Daiki through curious, cat-like eyes, “For almost four hours? Why the rush?” There’s something leading in his voice, in the grin that crosses his elegant face as he bats his lashes at Daiki coyly.

 

Daiki leans in toward Tetsu furtively, “What’s his deal?”

 

“I’m inclined to agree, Aomine-kun, why is it of such utmost importance that you play against Kagami-kun tomorrow?”

 

He looks smug. Actually looks it, for once.

 

“What’s _your_ deal?” Daiki sputters, reeling back as if Tetsu had shouted at him. Which he doesn’t think is something he’s ever done, his whole life long. He shakes his head quickly to try and focus. “Okay, so we made this bet, right? He wants to beat me, even if I keep destroying him in team games, and he also wants to...date me...I guess...”

 

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he looks away from both of them, willing to bet that he’s gone at least a shade redder after that admittedly pretty lame confession. When he chances a glance at Kise, he sees him sitting bolt upright, looking ready to burst with excitement and practically fucking sparkling at him.

 

Tetsu, on the other hand, just looks mildly interested in his explanation, “I see,” he says, “Do you want to date him, too?”

 

“I dunno,” Daiki says quickly, skirting around the question with a dismissive shrug, “I said I’d go out with him if he proves he can beat me, which is kinda why --”

 

A long, low sigh from Tetsu and Kise’s exasperated whine of _“Aominecchiiii,”_ cut him off, and he blinks, nonplussed, at each of them in turn.

 

“What?”

 

“Aomine-kun, you are as tactless and needlessly complicated as always,” Tetsu informs him matter-of-factly, “If you like someone and they ask you out, you shouldn’t play games with them and make them jump through hoops. You should just say yes.”

 

“It’s not that simple --”

 

“Yes, it is, Aominecchi,” Kise chips in, leaning forward intently and bracing his hands on his knees, “For once in your life, it literally is that simple. Just accept the offer if you like him so much, don’t leave him hanging for no reason.”

 

“You both keep saying that,” Daiki scoffs, trying in vain to regain his composure, “Who even said I like that loser?”

 

They both just look at him, unimpressed, and he forges on desperately, grasping at straws, “He’s...loud, and annoying, and full of himself, and freaking _obsessed_ with basketball…”

 

“So in other words, he’s your soulmate,” Kise snorts. Daiki sincerely regrets that there isn’t anything within reach to throw at him.

 

“Hell no,” he retorts instead, crossing his arms.

 

Tetsu mumbles something along the lines of “ _methinks thou dost protest too much,”_ and Aomine whirls on him, angry and flustered.

 

“What?”

 

“I’ll watch the gremlin for you,” Tetsu replies succinctly, rather than repeat himself. A wise choice.

 

Daiki straightens slowly, surprised, “You will?”

 

“Yes, you can bring her over tomorrow. Just let me know when.”

 

Suspicion sets in, and Daiki squints at him warily. It can’t be that easy. “What’s the catch?”

 

“It’s just a favor,” Tetsu says enigmatically, with a ghost of a smile, “When do you ever ask me for anything?”

 

Kise snickers, and, unnerved, Daiki edges away from him in the direction of the hallway, “Can I just...take my kid and go then?”

 

“But of course,” Tetsu says, gesturing toward his bedroom with an open hand. Relieved, Daiki takes the invitation to turn his back to them, escaping behind the bedroom door and leaning his back against it with an explosive sigh.

 

He must have shut it a little louder than he meant to, because Yui, who should have been fast asleep by now, is sitting up and blinking at him groggily, pulling her fingers out of her mouth to speak.

 

“Daddy?” she yawns, rubbing her eye with one tiny fist.

 

A familiar ache pulls at Daiki’s chest, like it always does when she calls him that, as if he needs the reminder at this point.

 

“It’s really late, Yui,” he murmurs conspiratorially, crouching down to her eye-level with a tiny grin and a glance at the door, as if they’re keeping a secret, “What are you doing up?”

 

“Heard you talking,” she smiles back sleepily, “And Ki-chan laughing. Can we go home?”

 

“That was the plan, it’s past someone’s bedtime,” Daiki says, straightening his bent knees. Yui holds her arms out, in the universal request to be picked up, and he obliges, clasping his hands around her back so she can rest her head against his shoulder. Which she does, and promptly droops in his arms as she falls back asleep. He vaguely envies the ability.

 

“Have fun on your date, Aominecchi!” Kise stage-whispers after him as he tries to leave, with a jovial wave of his manicured hand and a blinding, gloating smile.

 

Shoving his feet haphazardly into his shoes, Daiki keeps his gaze fixed firmly on the ground. _Don’t make eye contact...don’t encourage him..._

 

“Best of luck, Aomine-kun,” Tetsu adds as he meets him at the door. His face is perfectly straight, but his eyes are dancing with laughter.

 

“‘Night,” Daiki mutters brusquely over his drool-soaked shoulder, shutting the door on both of them before they can reply.

 

He makes a mental note to never ask Kise or Tetsu for a favor ever again. It doesn’t matter what he does now, he’s never going to live this down.

 

.

 

.

 

 

> “Do you know what the hardest part is?”
> 
>  
> 
> Tetsuya hummed an expectant sound, though if he was being honest, he had only been half-listening to Aomine-kun for the past few minutes. There came a certain point where the best way to get through his griping was to simply tune it out and wait for him to run out of steam. Or use a suitable opportunity to distract him, but even in the furniture section of a department store, there hadn’t been very many of those.
> 
>  
> 
> “Finding a changing station in the men’s bathroom,” Aomine-kun concluded irritably, “Half the time there’s barely even a _stall_ , let alone --”
> 
>  
> 
> “Eyelet or box pleat?” Tetsuya interrupted, holding up an example of each. Aomine-kun stopped, his rant successfully derailed, and glared at both of the options with his hands on his hips.
> 
>  
> 
> “I don’t even see why we’re buying curtains,” he sulked at last, without answering, “I’m not trying to hide anything.”
> 
>  
> 
> “You have neighbors, Aomine-kun.”
> 
>  
> 
> “So? I’m on the second floor, if they’re peeping in from my balcony that’s their problem.”
> 
>  
> 
> “It’s polite to put in curtains, regardless,” Tetsuya said, “And it’s a good deterrent for burglars when you aren’t home. Ivory or eggshell?”
> 
>  
> 
> “Do I honestly look like I care? They’re both fucking white, just pick one.”
> 
>  
> 
> “You might want to start watching your language around your daughter, Aomine-kun,” Tetsuya admonished, looking meaningfully at the child in the sling around Aomine-kun’s shoulders. Babywearing was a surprisingly good look for him, Tetsuya had to admit, and even though Yui was currently not paying either of them any attention, shaking an empty plastic bottle vigorously in one hand and babbling to herself occasionally, his point still stood.
> 
>  
> 
> “She’s not even talking yet,” Aomine-kun argued, adjusting the shoulder strap with one hand as Yui’s shaking was starting to shift it.
> 
>  
> 
> “But she is listening. ...Perhaps white isn’t the best idea with a baby in the house, though, it would be difficult to keep clean.”
> 
>  
> 
> “Actually,” Aomine-kun said matter-of-factly, “White stuff’s way easier to clean; you can just bleach it if it stains.”
> 
>  
> 
> Tetsuya looked at him for a moment in amazement. Well, that was a sentence he’d never thought he would hear from Aomine-kun’s mouth in a million years. Just another to add to the already lengthy list; how times had changed...
> 
>  
> 
> “...What? It’s true,” Aomine-kun insisted, seeming to misinterpret his surprise as skepticism. Yui, meanwhile, had stopped shaking the bottle and was instead trying to press it onto her father’s arm, seeming frustrated that it wouldn’t stick to his sleeve.
> 
>  
> 
> Tetsuya turned back around to consult the wall of curtain samples, putting his disbelief at Aomine-kun’s hidden wealth of domestic knowledge aside for now, “Should we get polyester or linen, do you think? Did you want window sheers?”
> 
>  
> 
> “I already told you, _I don’t care,_ ” Aomine-kun enunciated impatiently, “Seriously, just pick something, or we’ll be here all day.”
> 
>  
> 
> “Do you have somewhere to be?” Tetsuya asked politely, watching Yui rub the bottle up and down Aomine-kun’s arm like a lint brush, applying increasingly more friction and speed as she babbled nonsensically for his attention. He didn’t seem to pay her any notice.
> 
>  
> 
> “No, but some of us actually have _lives_ , and don’t want to spend our days off staring at fucking curtains!”
> 
>  
> 
> “Well, if you gave me something to work with, this would go much faster, you know,” Tetsuya pointed out.
> 
>  
> 
> “Yeah, right,” Aomine-kun retorted, still ignoring his daughter’s efforts, even as she started hitting the bottle urgently against his elbow, “You’re just dragging this out ‘cause you get off on --”
> 
>  
> 
> “Dadda!” Yui yelled finally, apparently having reached the limits of her patience. Aomine-kun froze mid-complaint, shock transforming his face as his mouth dropped open.
> 
>  
> 
> “Did...did you just say…?” he stammered weakly, staring down at her frowning face in astonishment.
> 
>  
> 
> Yui flung the bottle onto the ground in defeat, seeming to give her mission up for lost.
> 
>  
> 
> “Was that her first word?” Tetsuya asked, peering at Yui with interest, the curtains forgotten.
> 
>  
> 
> “I...yeah,” Aomine-kun murmured disbelievingly, his eyes wide and abnormally bright, “It’s just been sounds until now, she...called me dad…”
> 
>  
> 
> “...Are you going to cry, Aomine-kun?” Tetsuya asked kindly, switching to observe his changing expression instead.
> 
>  
> 
> Aomine-kun didn’t answer, which really was answer enough. Yui, meanwhile, seemed to have grown bored of all this reverent staring and was looking for something else to grab onto, settling for Aomine-kun’s fingers when they came within reach. And that seemed to snap Aomine-kun out of his reverie.
> 
>  
> 
> “Holy shit, I’m a dad,” he said blankly, bending down to retrieve the discarded bottle with his free hand.
> 
>  
> 
> “You don’t say,” Tetsuya deadpanned, “I never would have guessed.”
> 
>  
> 
> “Shut up, it just hit me all over again, okay?” Aomine-kun snapped, pointing the bottle in his right hand at the curtain swatch in Tetsuya’s left, “That one. Linen. Ivory. Box...something or other, the one without holes. I don’t need any sheers.”
> 
>  
> 
> Tetsuya blinked. So he was paying attention.
> 
>  
> 
> “Alright, that was easy,” he said, picking out the corresponding package and tossing it into their basket, “So, what’s next?”

 

.

 

.

 

It’s been a long time since Daiki has been to the street court while there’s still daylight. The sun is high, the sky a bright, dazzling blue with hardly a cloud. An occasional, chill breeze makes the air feel dry and bracing, but the weather hasn’t decided if it’s going to commit to cold yet. In short, it’s a good day to play ball.

 

It’s kind of strange to see the familiar court without the harsh glare of floodlights, without the black spider web of shadows cast by the tall chain link fences on all sides. It’s also strange to see it this deserted.  

 

“You actually showed up.”

 

Daiki turns, affronted, in the direction of the voice. “Hah? Why the tone of surprise?”

 

Kagami just shrugs, propping the basketball in his hand against his hip as he approaches, “I dunno, for some reason I just wasn’t sure you would.”

 

“So when I texted you ‘ _be there in ten_ ’, what did you think I meant? Ten years?”

 

Kagami laughs at that, loud and earnest, and Daiki has to hold back a self-congratulatory smirk. _Nailed it._ Not that making Kagami laugh is particularly difficult, but it’s still strangely satisfying to hear, and he can’t help thinking that he wants to do it again, as soon as possible.

 

Loosening his stance, he idly dribbles the weathered ball he’d brought with him at his side. The rhythm is comfortable, instinctive at this point, something he doesn’t have to think about while he sizes Kagami up thoughtfully.

 

“If you brought a basketball,” he says, “And I brought a basketball…”

 

“Then who’s flying the plane?”

 

Daiki falters, catching the ball one-handed in his confusion. “What?”

 

“Never mind,” Kagami says, cracking a puckish smile. Daiki has the distinct impression that he’s being made fun of, and starts to narrow his eyes. “It’s good to have an extra anyway. So how do you want to do this? First to ten?”

 

Daiki raises an eyebrow dubiously, “That’s all?” He’d come out here today expecting a _challenge._

 

“We can play a lot of rounds that way,” Kagami explains, perhaps a little defensively, “Besides, you’d be surprised how much harder it is when the numbers are small. Every point suddenly matters a whole lot more.”

 

“Is that how they do it in America?” Daiki asks, a deliberate, teasing edge to his voice.

 

Kagami grins in response, eyes half-lidded and bright with amusement, “Yeah. That’s exactly how they do it in America.”

 

 _...Are we flirting right now?_ It seems like a stupid question to ask, so Daiki doesn’t, instead shedding his jacket and tossing it and the extraneous basketball aside.

 

“Alright, I’m game,” he says, showing Kagami his teeth, “I’ll even let you have the ball first. Let’s see how long you can keep it.”

 

Kagami takes the offer, testing the feel of the ball against the pavement with one hand, then the other. Daiki’s played against him four times now and still doesn’t know which one is his dominant, he handles equally well with both. He does know his dominant leg, however, so when Kagami shifts his weight to the right, he’s ready.

 

When Kagami finally breaks his rhythm and tries to drive past him, he’s already there, blocking his path, twisting to cut him off again as he turns, following the subtle cues of his hands and feet and focused, shifting eyes to know where to go, how to move, how hard to push. It’s early, but he’s already turning Kagami’s momentum against him, forcing him to back up, think again, try something else. Only seconds in and the pressure’s on, but Kagami isn’t cracking.

 

There are no teammates to bail him out this time, no one he can rely on except himself, and Daiki can see him thinking as he drums the ball ceaselessly against the ground, watching and guessing Daiki’s movements just as Daiki is guessing his. Bluffing without backup. Predicting without proof. Extrapolating from incomplete data, as Satsuki would say. There’s a science to this.

 

But thinking ahead will only take Kagami so far; at some point he’s going to have to just trust his gut, pick his moment, and move. He can’t pass the ball, there’s no one to pass to. He can’t make a shot from here, he’s not Midorima, so his only option is to get past Daiki somehow.

 

Putting his tongue between his teeth with concentration, Kagami switches the ball to his left hand, drawing Daiki’s eye, before throwing out his right arm and ducking sideways, keeping Daiki on his right side and using agility rather than speed to keep out of his reach. He knows he can’t outrun him.

 

Kagami backs toward the hoop cautiously, on the defensive even though he’s the one holding the ball, refusing to take his eyes off Daiki and just trying to put distance between them, a few more seconds, a bit more leeway to think and react. He’s going to have to turn around to shoot, though, and that’s exactly what Daiki is waiting for. They’re staring each other down like animals now, with single-minded intensity, daring each other to make a move.

 

Kagami darts to the side, still facing Daiki, circling him and forcing him to circle as well. Then he’s facing the hoop, but Daiki is standing right in the middle, between him and his goal.

 

“Try it,” Daiki smirks, widening his stance and lowering his arms to his sides. He looks relaxed, but every nerve is on high alert, ready to strike.

 

Something electric flashes in Kagami’s eyes, and he backs up a step, calculating, feeling out the distance. There’s no way he can make it from there. Then he’s running, and Daiki’s bracing himself for a struggle, but as soon as his toes hit the free throw line, he’s not running anymore; he’s flying. _Holy shit._

 

It’s already too late for him to intercept the shot, but he can still make it more difficult; he hadn’t expected Kagami to _jump_ from there…

 

Kagami jams the ball into the net before he can do anything to stop it, but he’s in the perfect position to snatch the rebound, and the ball hits the ground long before Kagami does. When Kagami does touch down, he stumbles a little from the impact, but is still quick to whirl around and face off against Daiki again.

 

And already Daiki can tell that Kagami is right; this is going to be _so_ much more interesting with only ten points to win.

 

.

 

.

 

“That’s thirteen rounds,” Daiki says at last, panting, letting the ball roll away after his last backhanded shot.  He doesn’t know how much time has passed, but the sky is no longer blue, it’s faded to a deep amber orange on one side, a cool indigo on the other. His shirt is sticking to his back with sweat. “Eight-five, my favor.”

 

“Dammit,” Kagami gasps, swiping at his cheek with the collar of his shirt. Daiki’s eyes unconsciously jump to the flash of exposed skin where the hem of it lifts over his stomach, then guiltily cut back to his face. He looks frustrated, exhausted, but he’s still grinning faintly. “You’re good…but I’m...catching up…”

 

“I think we should call it a day, man,” Daiki suggests, raking a hand through his damp hair, “You’re not gonna close that gap any time soon in your state...”

 

“Had enough already, have you?” Kagami jabs weakly. It’s a pathetic attempt at false bravado, and Daiki isn’t going to dignify it with a response.

 

It turns out he doesn’t need to say anything, because after a moment, resignation floods Kagami’s face, and he slumps -- whether from exhaustion or disappointment, Daiki doesn’t know -- bracing his hands against his knees, “Okay, fine. You win...again.”

 

It’s the first time Daiki’s seen him look so downhearted about losing. Maybe because, this time, there’s nothing he can say to justify his defeat. They’ve played enough rounds by now to rule out oversight and chance, now he just has to face the fact that he simply isn’t up to scratch.

 

Daiki hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck as he rolls a certain conversation from earlier around in his head. And he makes up his mind, shoving Tetsu and Kise’s faces aside to take a deep, steadying breath.

 

“Hey, uh…” he starts awkwardly, “I don’t know about you, but...a cold drink and a change of scene sounds really good to me right about now. D’you wanna get out of here?”

 

Kagami’s head snaps up in surprise, “What? But...I _lost_ , you said --”

 

“I know what I said,” Daiki says, batting his protests away impatiently, “We can settle the score later, are you in or what?”

 

Kagami straightens slowly, looking him up and down with particular intent, as if trying to spot the catch, “Uh...yeah, sure, but...I don't get it, what made you change your mind?”

 

“Don’t read too much into it, dumbass,” Daiki shrugs, “I’m thirsty and I got tired of waiting, that’s all.”

 

Maybe Kagami sees something else on his face besides cool indifference, because he suddenly seems much more upbeat as he gathers his things and meets Daiki outside the street court, full of renewed energy and anticipation, and once again hitting him with that dangerous smile of his. That thing really should come with a warning.

 

“So when you say a change of scene...what’re you thinking?” he asks.

 

Daiki quickly looks away before he gets pulled in any deeper, and clears his throat into his fist, “Well I was under the impression that you were treating me...”

 

“Okay,” Kagami agrees easily, “Then I know a place that’s just around the corner. Are you down for a walk?”

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters just keep getting longer...and the burn just keeps getting slower...
> 
> I had to push some scenes I had planned for this chapter into the next one because they just didn't fit...it's already over 6k words that's double my usual chapter length, and I faded one and a half of those bball scenes to black this time. 
> 
> Point is I'm really taking this story seriously, and what you see before you isn't even all of what I've been working on for it, the rest is just gonna have to come in later. It's all over the place and I still think the changes of tense and time period are kinda jarring, maybe I'll do something about that while I'm working on chapter 4.
> 
> Anyway thanks for reading. ^^ Comments and kudos give me life, feed the author!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I have no earthly idea why Kagami's a California hippie and Mibuchi has a French accent in this...that's just what was in my heart for some reason. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 

> At not quite two in the morning, a clatter from Satsuki’s window jolted her from near-sleep. Heart pounding in her throat, she rolled out of bed, with difficulty, and threw it open, looking down into her front yard.
> 
>  
> 
> The initial burst of panic in her chest faded some when she saw who it was.
> 
>  
> 
> “Really, Dai-chan, throwing rocks?” she hissed, “What century do you think this is?”
> 
>  
> 
> “My battery’s dead,” Dai-chan said, holding up his phone as if to indicate the fact. The motion activated lights above Satsuki’s door reflected harshly off the lifeless black screen, and the new aluminum splint on the bridge of his nose. She sighed.
> 
>  
> 
> “I’ll be down in a second.”
> 
>  
> 
> She didn’t think any of her neighbors would be awake at this hour, but she still grabbed a bathrobe to throw on over her nightdress before hurrying down the stairs. She could barely get it closed around the bulk of her protruding belly, but at least she’d made an effort to look decent; there was enough talk about her swirling around the street already without her being seen letting a boy into her house in nothing but her negligee. Even if it was just Dai-chan. That sort of thing might have passed when they were kids, but she couldn’t see the nosy ladies next door turning a blind eye anymore.
> 
>  
> 
> Quietly, she eased the front door open, letting a yellow bar of light from the hallway out into the yard. Dai-chan’s face looked a lot worse up close, with deep purple and brown marks under his eyes, and more faded bruises blooming out around the nasal splint. The guy who’d punched him had said they were even, but his lip had healed within a day or so, whereas Dai-chan still looked like he’d taken a sledgehammer to the face almost a week later.
> 
>  
> 
> He ought to have been grateful to have avoided surgery, but between being benched by the coach for the foreseeable future -- or at least until the splint was removed -- and fielding a near-daily barrage of prying questions and additional harassment now that his end of the secret was out, he’d never looked more miserable and frustrated, and his face showed nothing different tonight.
> 
>  
> 
> “You haven’t come over at night like this since we were, like, eight,” Satsuki pointed out, “What’s the big idea?”
> 
>  
> 
> Dai-chan lifted his hand, and only then did Satsuki notice that he was carrying a large black duffel bag, his backpack slung loosely over the other shoulder.
> 
>  
> 
> He mumbled something indecipherable, his gaze childishly averted, so Satsuki braced her hands on her hips and glared at his chin, which was about eye level. It was entirely too late at night for this and her patience had already been thin to begin with.
> 
>  
> 
> “What?”
> 
>  
> 
> “I said my parents kicked me out,” Dai-chan said, louder and with apparent reluctance, as if keeping her from hearing it would keep it from coming true.
> 
>  
> 
> “ _What?”_ Satsuki repeated, this time in disbelief, her hands falling limply to her sides, “A-are you sure? Why would they --?”
> 
>  
> 
> “Are you going to let me in, or what?” Dai-chan interrupted, “It’s fucking freezing out here.”
> 
>  
> 
> Looking closer, Satsuki could see him shaking subtly, but she doubted it was actually from the cold like he claimed. It wouldn’t suit him to claim anything else, but she’d seen him out in shorts in subzero weather a few too many times to buy the excuse.
> 
>  
> 
> “Okay,” she said softly, stepping back from the door, “Come on in.”
> 
>  
> 
> Dai-chan followed her inside without another word, throwing his bags on the couch like he owned the place and collapsing at the table, wriggling his legs under the kotatsu with his shoes still on. Satsuki opened her mouth to point this out, or to remind him that the heater wasn’t even on, but she stopped short at the expression on his face. The bulky splint and mess of bruises he was wearing just made him look even more forlorn.
> 
>  
> 
> “I’ll make some tea,” she said, because it seemed like the right thing to do, even at two in the morning. Maybe _because_ it was two in the morning.
> 
>  
> 
> Dai-chan just nodded silently, apparently not in any hurry to talk. His hands were fidgeting on the tabletop, and she was willing to bet his legs were still shaking underneath it. He was good at keeping up appearances and hiding his emotions when he had to, but not from her. Never from her. She’d known him too well, for too long, to be lied to.
> 
>  
> 
> As she poured hot water into two cups, she considered asking Dai-chan what kind of tea he wanted, but in the end she thought better of it. She’d never known him to have any particular preference, and in the state he was in, he would probably drink anything she handed him without question anyway.
> 
>  
> 
> When she returned to the living room with a cup in each hand, she found Dai-chan slumped to the side, leaning on one outstretched arm that spanned almost the entire length of the table, his gaze sliding in and out of focus. He sat up straight as she approached, and picked up the steaming cup she placed in front of him like it was a foreign object.
> 
>  
> 
> Plucking up the initiative, she sat down across from him with her own cup and wet her lips in preparation to speak.
> 
>  
> 
> “What did you tell them?”
> 
>  
> 
> Dai-chan laughed, but it was such a hoarse, empty shell of a laugh that for a moment Satsuki thought he was choking.
> 
>  
> 
> “Everything,” he said, “That you’re pregnant, and it’s mine, and you’re keeping it, and I’m raising it...just...everything.”
> 
>  
> 
> “Okay…” Satsuki began, toying with the handle of her cup absently, “But why would that make them…?”
> 
>  
> 
> “I’m dropping out of school to take care of it.”
> 
>  
> 
> Satsuki was glad she hadn’t taken a sip of her tea yet, she might have spat it right back out at that.
> 
>  
> 
> “You’re --? But...Dai-chan…” Sighing deeply, she fell forward to press her face into her hands, hiding her eyes.
> 
>  
> 
> There was a long moment of silence. Relative silence. The clock on the kitchen wall was ticking away incessantly, keeping time, and in the other room, Satsuki could faintly hear her father snoring.
> 
>  
> 
> “When did you decide this?” she asked at last, her voice muffled behind her fingers.
> 
>  
> 
> She could almost hear Dai-chan shrug, “Like...a week ago? Why does it matter?”
> 
>  
> 
> “It’s your last year,” Satsuki said, lowering her hands to look at him pleadingly, “You’re so close to graduating, why would you--?”
> 
>  
> 
> “We’ve got until summer,” Dai-chan interrupted, looking pointedly at her massive midriff, “Before the baby comes. I don’t know about you, but I’m sure as hell not ready for it.”
> 
>  
> 
> “And dropping out of your senior year of high school is going to make you more ready?” Satsuki snapped.
> 
>  
> 
> Dai-chan slammed his cup down on the table, sloshing tea over the rim without even seeming to notice the spill. He was finally looking her in the eye, and his expression was ugly. “I don’t...I haven’t got _time_ for school anymore! I won’t have time for _anything_ once it’s born, you said so yourself, so would you stop sounding like my fucking _parents?”_
> 
>  
> 
> Lowering her head, Satsuki traced her hands absently over the swollen flesh of her protruding stomach beneath the kotatsu blanket. Sometimes, it rippled with tiny kicks, practically vibrating with the life she and Dai-chan had inadvertently created inside it, other times, like now, it lay still and heavy, a burden neither of them was ready to bear.
> 
>  
> 
> “I need to get a job,” Dai-chan went on, his voice losing most of its bite, but none of its bullheaded insistence, “I might even need two or three to pull this off, and I should be doing that _now_ , shouldn’t I? _Before_ shit hits the fucking fan? Aren’t you the one always telling me not to put these things off?”
> 
>  
> 
> “I… _yes_ , Dai-chan, but…” Satsuki sighed, exhaustion creeping over her, “What kind of job do you think is going to take a high school dropout with no skill set or experience? You’ll be doing meaningless grunt work for the rest of your life.”
> 
>  
> 
> “It wouldn’t be meaningless.”
> 
>  
> 
> He said it so quietly, barely moving his lips, that Satsuki almost didn’t catch it. She wondered if he had meant for her to hear.
> 
>  
> 
> “...It’s late,” she said, rather than press the issue any further. She was perhaps a trifle better than Dai-chan at recognizing when she’d lost an argument, but knew she was just as bad if not worse at admitting it. “If you want to sleep here for awhile, you can. My parents will understand.”
> 
>  
> 
> Dai-chan had barely waited for her to finish speaking before he pushed his bags aside to make a space for himself on the couch, settling into it and kicking his shoes off over the side.
> 
>  
> 
> “That makes one of us.”

 

.

 

.

 

The place isn’t far from the street court, as Kagami said. The walk itself is pleasant, and just long enough for Daiki to notice the silence, to think about breaking it, to notice the way the last rays of dying sunlight torch Kagami’s skin and turn his ridiculous hair to a brand of fire.

 

There’s a relatively recent nick just below the apex of his chin, where he must have cut himself shaving this morning. Daiki swallows, and tears his eyes away from the tiny flaw, shoving his hands in his pockets.

 

Kagami stops, and instinctively, Daiki does the same. He’s so tuned in to the movements of those large feet by now that he thinks he could follow them even in his sleep.

 

“Well, here we are.”

 

Daiki only has time for a cursory glance of the outside of the place. It’s not fancy or particularly eye-catching (wide, backlit glass windows framed in a cement wall painted to look like wood) and though he cranes his neck, he can’t seem to spot the name of the place from this angle under the awning.

 

“Okay, so where’s here?”

 

“One of my favorite after-game hangouts,” Kagami says simply, pushing the door open with a dismissive shrug, “It’s cozy.”

 

Daiki can believe that. In fact, he hopes it isn’t as cramped inside as it looks from the outside, though as the sun dips below the horizon and the air starts to turn properly cold, the warm orange glow of light through the window shades does look pretty inviting.

 

He follows Kagami inside, where it’s immediately much warmer and brighter. It’s busy, but not crowded, the conversations of various tables not rising above a low background hum as waiters bustle between them, bringing trays of food and drink. On the other side of the room is a long, gleaming bar in front of a blackboard menu, as well as shelves of bottles and various glasses, all sparkling under the rosy light fixtures on the ceiling.

 

He catches sight of a rainbow flag draped impressively on one wall and pauses.

 

“Wait a second. Kagami, did you just bring me to a gay bar?” He might have been pretty lenient about standing back and letting Kagami take the wheel tonight, but doesn’t remember signing on for that.

 

Kagami flushes, pretty spectacularly. “Not...officially. The manager’s really progressive, and that’s...rare, around here...so the gay thing just kinda happened on its own. It’s not exclusive or anything.”

 

“ _Oui._ We do not deescriminate,” says an effeminate, thickly accented voice.

 

“‘Sup, Reo?” Kagami says, sidling up to the bar.

 

The owner of the voice is a tall, slender man propping his elbows leisurely against the counter. His sleek black hair looks like it belongs in a shampoo commercial, draping on either side of high cheekbones and heavy-lidded gray-green eyes, which are currently feasting on Daiki with unconcealed delight.

 

Daiki _definitely_ didn’t sign on for _that._

 

“Ah, Taiga, what is _zis_ beautiful creature you ‘ave brought with you tonight? _Enchant_ _é._ ” He extends a hand over the bar like royalty, but if he’s expecting Daiki to kiss it, he’s going to be sorely disappointed. Daiki turns to Kagami for explanation, eyebrows raised expectantly and arms crossed.

 

“Mibuchi Reo,” Kagami says, by way of introduction, jerking his thumb at the guy, “The manager’s nephew, he practically runs the place.”

 

“Ze place runs itself, I merely provide it with a touch of _class,”_ Mibuchi says importantly, drawing up to his full height and tossing his long, glossy mane out of his eyes.

 

“Is he…?” Daiki begins, trailing off with an uncertain gesture.

 

“Gay? Yes, he is.”

 

“As a rainbow in fucking ‘eels, _monsieur.”_

 

“...I meant French?”

 

Immediately, Kagami’s face sets into an exasperated grimace. “No, he’s not. Hey, Reo, would you drop the fake accent already? I keep telling you no one is buying it.”

 

“It eez part of my _character,_ Taiga. Besides, ‘ _e_ was buying it,” Mibuchi argues, pointing one haughty, imposing finger at Daiki’s chest. Kagami follows his gaze and finally seems to notice that Daiki is still hanging back uneasily, hands in his pockets.

 

“...Are you uncomfortable?” he asks, eyebrows furrowing with disappointment. No, _concern._ “We can go somewhere else, I just thought…”

 

“I’m fine,” Daiki says firmly, shaking off the culture shock and joining him at the bar, “Are we gonna order something, or what?”

 

Mibuchi, for one, seems glad he asked, clapping his hands together for their collective attention, “Exzellent idea, what are we feeling tonight?”

 

“Sangria,” Kagami says, without hesitation, and without looking away from Daiki’s face, “With Grand Marnier and extra --”

 

“Extra orange, I know,” Mibuchi interrupts lazily, examining his immaculate fingernails, “You picked ze ‘abit up in California.”

 

Kagami blinks, and then settles onto a padded bar stool with the kind of ease brought on by frequent patronage, “Hey, if there’s one thing they do right in SoCal, it’s Spanish wine and oranges.”

 

“So two things,” Mibuchi grins, before turning his full attention onto Daiki like a spotlight, “And what can I get for you, _bel homme?”_

 

Daiki scratches his cheek, trying to hide his renewed discomfort at the flirtatious way the guy bats his lashes at him by scanning the complicated list of spirits and cocktails on the blackboard behind his head. Truth be told, he’s not really familiar with any of this. He’s only ever drank whatever contraband alcohol was handed to him in a cheap plastic cup at high school parties...back when he had time in his life for high school and parties. He’s way out of his depth here.

 

He picks a stool on Kagami’s right, resisting the urge to swivel in it like a child when he realizes that it does in fact...swivel. He has personal dignity to uphold, and all.

 

“Uh...could I get a beer?” he tries, at the risk of being called out for a lack of creativity. Better that than stumbling over the unfamiliar terminology, or rolling the dice on some mystery drink that could have, like, fish eyes in it for all he knows. Wouldn’t be the first time he’s made that mistake.

 

Instantly, Mibuchi pulls a face, “Of course, but zat is such a _straight_ choice. What a shame...”

 

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

 

“Don’t listen to him,” a stern voice interjects, as a rather familiar face appears on the other side of the bar, carrying a plastic tray under one arm. Instead of basketball shorts, this time he’s wearing the same black apron as Mibuchi, a pair of stainless steel barbell earrings joining the other jewelry around his neck, “Reo, your job is to serve people what they order, not reduce them to outdated stereotypes. Stop sulking and get the man a beer.”

 

Daiki leans in toward Kagami casually, “You didn’t mention your fiancé worked here.”

 

“He’s _not_ my --” Kagami squawks indignantly, before catching sight of the look on Daiki’s face and shaking his head in amusement, “You’re never letting that go, are you?”

 

“I don’t let things go,” Daiki says simply, holding his gaze.

 

Kagami blinks, and something in his expression changes, but he turns away before Daiki can decide what it is.

 

“Good to know. How’s business, Tatsuya?”

 

“It’s been alright,” the guy called Tatsuya says with a shrug. His dark bangs are long and completely cover one of his eyes, but Daiki can still see that he’s being sized up shrewdly out of the corner of the other, and thrusts out his chin in defiance. The guy has the nerve to smirk and then go right back to disregarding him, returning his attention to Kagami instead, “Who’s your friend?”

 

 _There’s that word again._ “We’ve met before,” Daiki points out, loudly, “Remember? At the street court?”

 

The guy roves his eyes over him slowly, stroking his chin with a totally fake air of contemplation.

 

“I’m not sure I recall,” he says at last, blinking innocently, “I’m sorry, it’s just that I play against so manypeople and I’m not that great with faces.”

 

“Bastard --” Daiki starts under his breath, but Kagami stops him. Actually puts a hand on his chest as if to hold him back. Well he’s sure as shit not going anywhere _now_.

 

“Don’t be a bully, Tatsuya, we talked about this,” Kagami says calmly, without removing his hand. Daiki wants to say that he’s not being bullied, he's being fucking baited, but his primary occupation is trying to ignore the fact that Kagami’s splayed fingers are so warm and firm even through the fabric of his shirt.

 

The guy called Tatsuya rolls his eyes, but his posture is relaxing, nonetheless.

 

“Fine,” he says, “I’m Himuro Tatsuya, Taiga’s childhood friend. Pleasure to meet you, Aomine Daiki, whom I definitely recognize from our match last week, and from Taiga’s increasingly graphic texts --”

 

“Tatsuya!” Kagami snaps, scandalized. But just like that, the tension is broken, as Himuro bursts out laughing and Daiki, a little slower on the uptake, recognizes that he was in fact only teasing and joins in.

 

“Glad to see someone’s finally loosening up,” Mibuchi cuts in, reappearing out of thin air like he’s been taking lessons from fucking Tetsu, “You ‘ave a beautiful smile, _monsieur,_ it’s such a shame about your tragic lack of flair.”

 

“...Is he _always_ like this?”

 

“Unfortunately,” Himuro sighs, tugging Mibuchi out of Daiki’s space by the arm, “He’s harmless, though. Just an incorrigible idiot who thinks beer is the devil’s beverage, or something.”

 

“I ‘ave nothing against your watered-down yeast swill,” Mibuchi sniffs, ducking out of reach to resume bustling around behind the counter with a purpose, “‘Owever...Try _zis._ ” He delicately sets a glass of something smooth and bright red and definitely not beer in front of Daiki.

 

Kagami and his friend exchange an identical long-suffering, _‘here we go again’_ look that makes Daiki think it’s optional, but in the end his curiosity gets the better of him and he picks it up to take a tentative sip. Whatever it is, it’s cold and thick as a smoothie, sweet and tangy and much better than he expected. There’s a slice of lime on the rim and a fine ring of sugar around the lip of the glass.

 

“Damn,” he says, peering into the remaining sludge, “What is that?”

 

“Raspberry daiquiri, darling,” Mibuchi preens, “On the ‘ouse. Forty percent alcohol and it actually fucking tastes good, _oui_?”

 

“ _Oui,”_ Daiki echoes absently, startling a burst of laughter out of Kagami that goes straight to his head, even faster than the drink as he takes another, longer sip, “I mean uh...yeah.”

 

“He’ll have you doing shots next,” Kagami says warningly, once he catches his breath, “It’s pretty early to be slinging hard liquor, Reo, take it easy.”

 

“Nonsense, _le cinq_ _à_ _cept_ is already underway!” Mibuchi crows, filling another glass with chopped oranges and apples and various fruit juices, and finally with dark red wine, “Ze time of lovers is at hand!”

 

“Dude, it’s like...six thirty,” Kagami says, as Mibuchi plunks his drink down in front of him. Daiki watches him pick it up and swirl the chunky burgundy punch around slowly, painting the inside of the glass with a thin bloodred glaze. He looks just as comfortable with a drink in his hand as he does with a basketball, and seems completely at home here, lounging on a barstool exchanging banter with a few close friends.

 

“So are you actually... _from_ America, then?” Daiki blurts without thinking, as it hits him suddenly how little he knows about Kagami as a person. Which...of course, in many ways they’re total strangers to each other, and he could probably fill a book or three with things Kagami doesn’t know about him. But still, getting inside his head on the basketball court and learning all his unconscious tics and habits had been so...intimate, in a way, that he’d almost forgotten.

 

Kagami blinks in surprise, but ultimately seems pleased by the show of interest, smirking around the lip of his glass before gently setting it down. “Not really. I was born and raised in Japan, but my dad and I kind of moved around a lot while I was in school. I lived in LA for awhile, and I was going to go to college in Santa Barbara...I just transferred back to Tokyo this year, actually.”

 

“And ‘e brought ze bohemian lifestyle back with ‘im,” Mibuchi chips in wistfully. Kagami throws him a glare, but before he can even open his mouth, Himuro intervenes, grabbing Mibuchi by the scruff of his neck and dragging him off, amid loud, undignified protests, to leave them in peace.

 

Daiki takes another sip of the raspberry cocktail he was given, waiting for Kagami to either continue his story or change the subject. Only when the silence stretches on for several seconds does he realize that Kagami is also waiting for him to speak. React, maybe.

 

“Well you’re more worldly than me, then,” he begins stiltedly, “I’ve lived in Japan my whole life. The furthest I’ve been from home is Hokkaido.” And to think, he gave Satsuki shit about moving to a different _city._..

 

“Oh, I’ve never been there,” Kagami says conversationally, “What part?”

 

“Otaru,” Daiki mutters, scratching one nail against the stained Formica bar top, “I used to go with my parents every summer, but that was before…” He trails off, averting his gaze and wondering how his head is already starting to feel fuzzy when his glass is still mostly full.

 

“Before --?” Kagami prompts, before quickly shaking his head, “Never mind. You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to, uh...my bad.”

 

Daiki breathes out a halfhearted laugh, “Nah, it’s just family drama. I uh...I dropped out of high school my senior year so I could...work full time. Let’s just say my folks didn’t take it very well.” He lifts his gaze from the Formica to look at Kagami challengingly, daring him to laugh or try to criticize him.

 

Kagami does neither. In fact, he looks sympathetic, and takes a contemplative swig of his own drink. Daiki unconsciously watches his throat flex and swallow. His upper lip comes away with a faint red stain.

 

“Shit, that’s rough,” he says, after what feels like an eternity, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, “Parents are the worst.”

 

Daiki shifts a little in his seat, but doesn’t say anything. It’s not worth it. Not for a nerve that Kagami doesn’t know is there.

 

Feeling parched and a little light-headed, he just nods absently and picks up his own glass, raising it in an imaginary toast to like...shitty parenting, or something. God knows he would recognize a thing or two, now that he’s on this end of it.

 

For a while they both just drink in silence. It’s not exactly tense, but there’s a definite awkward, uncomfortable edge on both sides that wasn’t there before.

 

“...So how long have you played basketball?” Kagami asks finally, leaning an arm against the bar and swiveling his stool in order to face him.

 

Daiki exhales with relief at the change of topic, allowing a quick grin to cross his face, “As long as I can remember. When I was a kid I’d drag my friend Satsuki out to play for hours against guys twice my size. By the time I joined an actual team, I was pretty unstoppable.”

 

“Ha! I’ll bet,” Kagami says, and Daiki looks, but he can’t spot a trace of insincerity on his face, “So you really did grow up on Japanese streetball, huh?”

 

“Yeah, and I just kicked your American ass with it. Consistently,” Daiki can’t keep the smirk off his face, spinning his glass by its stem idly as he watches for Kagami’s reaction.

 

“Hey, I won almost half of those rounds, don’t forget,” Kagami says, but he’s smirking right back, showing a sparkle of teeth between his reddened lips.

 

“If you think five is half of thirteen, then you must suck at math even worse than me,” Daiki snorts, taking a brazen gulp of raspberry _whatever_ and draining his glass in the process. The rush of cold kind of hurts his teeth, but the alcohol is already lighting a fire in his stomach, sending warmth up to his ears and throat and making his limbs feel pleasantly loose and heavy.

 

“You want another?” Kagami asks, indicating his empty glass with a tilt of his own.

 

“I never did get that beer I ordered,” Daiki points out, more as a plain acknowledgement of fact than a complaint. Honestly he’s always kind of thought the stuff tasted like piss, he just hadn’t thought he was allowed to say so out loud. He hadn’t been aware that he had other options until now.

 

“Oh, did you still want one? I’ll get Tatsuya to --”

 

“No,” Daiki interrupts, leaning an arm against the bar nonchalantly, “Actually, I’d like to try some of yours.”

 

Kagami blinks, his mouth hanging slightly open in surprise. Okay, so maybe that was a little bold, but with one strong drink under his belt already, Daiki’s feeling good and starting to wander in his wits. Besides, it’s a welcome switch to be the one _throwing_ the curve balls for once.

 

“Uh...sure, go ahead,” Kagami says at last, looking a bit dazed as he hands over his half-empty glass. Their fingers brush in transaction, and an electric shock snaps between them. Daiki thinks fuzzily of ignition coils and jumper cables, imagining sparks flying where they touched.

 

Kagami’s drink is a lot more subtle than the fruity concoction Daiki just finished. It’s dark and mellow with a playful zing of citrus, but in truth, he isn’t really thinking about the taste, nor the large quantities of pulp he’s currently having to strain between his teeth. He’s thinking about the hooded eyes redder than the wine watching him over the lip of the glass, and whose thoughtfully frowning mouth was on it just before his own.

 

“Hey,” Kagami prompts eventually, his voice pitched low. Daiki hums a sound of acknowledgement and sets the glass down. “Can I ask you something?”

 

There’s probably something to read into there, some landmine Daiki should really be watching out for, but at the moment, he can’t seem to think of what it is. He can’t seem to...think. _Oh well…_

 

“You just did,” he says instead, throwing a lazy smirk in his direction.

 

“Shut up,” Kagami says, without heat. His eyes close, a second or two longer than your standard blink, and when they open again Daiki realizes he might have actually leaned forward, as if to try and count his eyelashes, or frame them between his hands. He sits back quickly. “It’s about something you said when we met last week.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yeah. I asked if you were single, and you...didn’t really give me a straight answer.”

 

“Hmm...but you didn’t really want a _straight_ answer,” Daiki says, holding up one finger in triumphant accusation, “Did you.”

 

Kagami doesn’t laugh, which is disappointing, and he’s looking at him a bit strangely now, a faint crease appearing between his ridiculous eyebrows as he frowns and leans in closer.

 

“No, but...like, it was kind of a yes or no question. You’re not seeing anyone, are you?”

 

“Bit late to be asking that _now_ , isn’t it?” Daiki shrugs breezily. Downright flirtatiously, really; if he were any further gone he might have thrown in a cheesy wink for effect. But Kagami still doesn’t look amused, and is still studying him seriously with that little line in his forehead, so he heaves a sigh and changes tack. “No, I’m not seeing anyone, I just...had kind of a weird end to a not-really relationship and still have some...stuff left over from it, so…yeah.”

 

“Oh,” Kagami says. He doesn’t move, but the line disappears as he raises his eyebrows, and even cracks a tiny mollified smile, “Okay. That’s okay.”

 

Huh. Well that was easy. Granted, he’s still not being entirely transparent, but then, Kagami didn’t ask for gritty details, just truth. That much Daiki can do.

 

“Can I ask _you_ something?” he tries, following Kagami’s shifting eyes with his own to the best of his ability.

 

“Sure,” Kagami says immediately. It’s as if his whole body has relaxed after hearing Daiki’s answer, leaning languidly against the bartop as he snatches up his glass again.

 

_Why were you so determined to ask me out when you don’t know a thing about me?_

 

He rolls the question around in his head, trying to find a more delicate way to phrase it, but thinking through the thick, syrupy fog that seems to have descended on his brain proves to be impossible. Kagami is still searching his face curiously, his strange eyebrows drawing together and nearly making a perfect X across his forehead.

 

“Where the hell’d you get eyebrows like that?” is what finally decides to come out of his mouth.

 

Kagami straightens abruptly, and lets out a startled laugh, “What?”

 

Daiki kind of wants to hit his head against the countertop, but instead he holds fast and leans in closer to illustrate his point. And if he’d been edging into Kagami’s personal bubble before, now he completely obliterates it by grazing a fingertip against his temple, brushing his bangs away from deep red eyes suddenly blown wide open. They’re almost nose to nose now.

 

“See, they’re all split, is that on purpose?”

 

Kagami wets his lips, and Daiki glances down, transfixed by the momentary flash of tongue. His own mouth has officially gone bone dry. Color is riding high on Kagami’s cheeks, and judging by the uncomfortable heat crawling up Daiki’s neck, he’s probably in a similar state.

 

“Hey...” Kagami starts softly, but Daiki cuts him off with a spur of inspiration, eyes half-lidded and pulse thundering in his ears.

 

“Kiss me.”

 

Kagami puts a hand to his chest and pushes him back to arm’s length, looking him up and down with critical eyes and a confused frown.

 

Not the response he was expecting.

 

“Dude, are you drunk? Already?”

 

“No,” Daiki retorts, suppressing a dizzy hiccup. Somehow the bar didn’t stop moving when he did, still smearing in front of his eyes with the inertia, “I’m...soberly total....”

 

Kagami sits back, looking surprised, “Oh my God, you are.”

 

“Okay, so I’m a fuckin’ lightweight,” Daiki grumbles, “Sue me.”

 

Granted, it hasn’t ever taken just _one_ drink to get him in this state, but then, he’s never had anything as strong as whatever that faux French bastard put in front of him tonight. He would have been fine with a beer, thank you very much.

 

“Sorry,” Kagami says, lowering his gaze, “But I’m gonna have to say no.”

 

“Why’d you drag me out here, then?” Daiki snaps, feeling the sting to his pride now that the room has mostly stopped spinning, “You took me to a gay bar and you don’t even want to make out?”

 

“I’m not doing this with you drunk.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“You...it’s not right,” Raking a hand through his bangs, Kagami gets up from his stool and raps on the counter with his knuckles, “Besides, you don’t even know if you’re gay. You said so yourself.”

 

Daiki shrugs, “Yeah, well, only one way to find out, right?”

 

Himuro approaches from behind the bar, and Kagami makes a gesture at Daiki that they both apparently understand, because he just nods and accepts the stack of bills Kagami slaps down on the bartop without comment. Then Kagami turns his attention back on Daiki.

 

“I’m taking you home.”

 

Daiki brightens, and gets to his feet, somewhat unsteadily, “Now that’s more like it.”

 

“ _Your_ home, dumbass. Let’s go.”

 

Spirits somewhat dampened, Daiki trails behind him to the exit, stumbling a little in his wake. His legs are stiff and kind of sore from their vigorous workout earlier, distinctly jelly-like from the alcohol, and all-around reluctant to support his weight.

 

Another patron walks in just as Kagami is trying to leave, and he catches the door in the shoulder with a grunt of annoyance, before blinking as it swings back out easily at his touch.

 

“Oh, I didn’t know it swung both ways.”

 

“Ha,” Daiki slurs, clasping his hands around a hard, trim waist to catch his balance as he lurches forward, “Same.”

 

“Get off me, you drunk bastard,” Kagami sighs, prying his fingers apart and ushering him briskly through the door, “Where’s your car?”

 

“Where’s _your_ car?” Daiki shoots back. _Burn._

 

Kagami rolls his eyes, one hand still resting on Daiki’s shoulder blade, as if to steady him if he starts to sway again.

 

“I don’t own one, genius. Did you park near the street court?”

 

Daiki hums noncommittally, leaning back into the touch so that Kagami has to practically shove him down the sidewalk, his feet scuffing uncooperatively against the pavement. He’s reminded faintly of what it’s like to get Yui to go to daycare, some days. Except that she’s like a quarter of his body mass, whereas if anything, he probably outweighs Kagami by at least a kilo or two.

 

The thought of his daughter properly stops him in his tracks, and Kagami keeps pushing futilely, but can’t quite get him to budge.

 

“Hey, what’s the big --?”

 

“I parked across the street,” he mumbles, squinting in the dark to try to make out the fence surrounding the street court. The lights should have come on by now.

 

“Okay, this way.” Kagami grabs his wrist and drags him around a corner, where the harsh white glow of floodlights is suddenly, immediately obvious, down at the end of the block.

 

“Just say when,” he says, as they pass by the rows of parked cars across from the court. He still doesn’t sound as irritated as Daiki might have expected, just resigned, slowing their pace to give Daiki time to process the different makes and models in the dark, his fingers still warm and firm around his wrist.

 

“When,” Daiki mutters, stopping in front of the curb, and the black Camry sedan with a massive dent in the front fender. He thinks he sees Kagami raise an eyebrow at it dubiously.

 

“What?” he says defensively, “It's used. And I can do my own PDR, I just haven't got a long enough rod right now, so...”

 

“What...the _fuck_ are you talking about?” Kagami laughs, shaking his head, “Just give me the keys and get in the car, fool.”

 

“I can drive myself,” Daiki protests. Kagami snorts.

 

“You can barely walk, man, there's no way in hell I'm letting you drive.” He holds out a hand insistently for the keys, and Daiki almost misses it entirely as he grudgingly hands them over.

 

“This is such a 90’s car,” Kagami says as he slides into the driver’s seat, “I think my grandma still drives one of these.”

 

“It’s a _2003_ car,” Daiki snaps, sulkily crawling into the passenger side. A dull ache is settling into his temples, and it isn’t making his head any clearer. “And if you don’t like it you can get the hell out.”

 

“Relax, I was only kidding. I still have to take the train, I’ve got no room to talk. So where to?”

 

He rattles off Tetsu’s address instead of his own, because he’s _supposed_ to go there first, and it could be his distorted vision, or his imagination, but he thinks he sees Kagami’s forehead wrinkle in confusion, or recognition, or something, as he adjusts the rearview. Whatever it is, he doesn’t comment on it.

 

“Nice pride statement,” He says instead, gesturing with a grin at something inside the back door frame. Daiki looks over his shoulder, though the sharp movement makes his head swim, and sees one of Yui’s rainbow stickers, still clinging stubbornly to the vinyl.

 

“That’s not…” he starts, turning back around, but Kagami’s gaze is focused on something else now. Something glaringly obvious fastened into the back seat. The smile has slipped right off his face.

 

Daiki can almost see the gears turning, as the pieces start to fall into place. The padded child seat is empty right now, but there’s no mistaking what it’s for. There’s also no mistaking Daiki’s prolonged silence as he numbly waits for a reaction, having blundered right through the reveal he’d meant to ease into slowly, some other time. In his right mind he would have seen this coming, but it’s too late to try and walk it back now.

 

“Oh,” Kagami says, after a fashion, letting go of the mirror stem and resting his hands tentatively on either side of the wheel. It occurs to Daiki that he’s holding his breath.

 

“Is that...?”

 

“Yeah,” Daiki exhales quickly, closing his eyes as an old exhaustion suddenly caves in on him, in addition to the fatigue of intoxication. Like it was just lying in wait for this moment. “Yeah, that’s...mine. Well, it’s Yui’s, actually, she’s my --”

 

“She’s your...daughter?” Kagami, thankfully, decides to interrupt his garbled babbling. He sounds uncertain, still connecting the dots, but not as shocked as Daiki expected.

 

Daiki takes another slow breath, before letting it all out. He’s not sober enough for this.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“...How old?”

 

“She’ll be three in August. Look, I’m sorry I didn’t --”

 

“It’s okay,” Kagami says quickly, holding up a hand to stop him. He’s still holding the keys between his fingers. “You don’t have to explain anything...I get it. Just tell me where I need to go.”

 

“Well, I’ve gotta pick her up from Tetsu’s first…that’s the address I gave you.”

 

“Alright,” Kagami says, fitting the key into the ignition. He hesitates a moment. “Just...one more question, okay?”

 

“Hm.”

 

“You weren’t...lying or anything before, were you? You’re not still in a relationship with --?”

 

“For fuck’s sake, _no,_ ” Daiki sighs explosively. His head is starting to really throb now. "The thing with Satsuki...wasn't even supposed to be a thing, but it's over now...it’s just me.”

 

Kagami looks at him for a long moment, like he’s thinking of saying something else, but in the end he just averts his gaze and turns the key in the ignition.

 

 _Click, click, click_... Silence.

 

“Uh…”

 

Daiki is not fucking _sober_ enough for this.

 

“Yeah, sometimes you have to...like, jiggle it a couple times before…you know what never mind, let me see it.”

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You would not BELIEVE the amount of times I had to rewrite parts of this chapter. It's been a broken up, illogical mess floating around my docs since like, before chapter 2 was out. And since I was sick this week, I finally got time to buckle down and stitch it all together somehow. There are parts of it I really like, and parts I'm not crazy about, but at some point I had to call it done, so I can move on with this story.
> 
> I can't promise more frequent updates from now on, because finals are happening at school and work has been an absolute nightmare, but maybe once summer starts I can at least start writing a bit more regularly, and get some things done. Until then, thank you guys so much for reading, and for sticking with me. 
> 
> Your feedback honestly makes my day, and keeps this story going. So if you can, leave a comment! Takes a second, means a lot.<3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh....so...here's this, happy Father's Day!

Across the board, this isn’t how Taiga expected tonight to go down. Even disregarding Aomine’s inexplicable change of heart earlier, and the dropping of his one condition preventing him from accepting Taiga’s request for a date, the evening has just been one sharp turn after another, and somehow he wound up here, drumming his fingers against Aomine’s steering wheel while Aomine himself leans in a drunken slumber against the passenger side window, his seatbelt probably cutting into the side of his neck. He doesn’t seem to notice, shitfaced as he is even after just one drink, and he’d been pretty quiet for most of the ride until about a minute ago, when he started filling the car with intermittent, buzzing snores.

 

Taiga glances in the rearview at the empty baby seat in the back and sighs. Yeah, he’s got more questions about _that_ shocker too, about a million of them, but he’s not even going to touch it until he gets Aomine home. And _sober._

 

Definitely not how he expected tonight to go down.

 

He pulls into the parking lot of the apartment complex, maneuvering Aomine’s car into one of the few spaces that isn’t reserved for tenants, and turns the key in the ignition. He swears the car’s whole frame sags as the engine rattles to a stop, and he has some considerable doubts about getting it to start again. Aomine had mentioned working in auto repair before, but Taiga wouldn’t be surprised if this hunk of bolts is only being held together with duct tape and string. It’s a wonder it runs at all.

 

After unbuckling his seatbelt, he leans over to release Aomine’s as well.

 

“Aomine,” he says, low, giving his shoulder a tentative shake, “Hey, wake up, we’re here.”

 

Aomine just grumbles something unintelligible and snuggles closer to the window, unresponsive. _Why do I even try…_

 

Fine, then. Let him stay here and sleep off the booze, not like he’d be much help in his current state anyway. Taiga can handle this on his own; he can totally...handle this. Picking up a stranger’s kid he’s never seen before from their alleged babysitter by himself at night. No sweat.

 

It’s kind of weird having to lock Aomine in his own car, but it’s better than leaving the keys and letting it get stolen out from under his sleeping nose...or crashed into a lamp post if he wakes up and decides a little DUI is in order to really make the night memorable. Better safe than sorry, right?

 

So he pockets the keys and strolls up to the front door, where he scans the list of apartment numbers on the buttons beside their respective mail slots. He jams his finger into number 115 and a distant buzzer sounds.

 

“Who’s there?” A crackly, but otherwise jaunty voice says through the speaker.

 

Taiga clears his throat uneasily, and presses the button again, “My name’s Kagami, I uh...I’m here to pick up Yui? Aomine’s...daughter?”

 

He might be imagining it, but he thinks he hears a gasp and a snicker from the other end, quickly drowned out by a much louder buzz announcing that the front door has been unlocked for him without further questions.

 

Well, he’s not going to argue with that, as long as the rest of the exchange goes this smoothly.

 

He’s glad the apartment number Aomine gave him is at least on the ground floor, so he doesn’t have to navigate the maze of stairs and unmarked doors that make up the rest of the building. Just a straight shot down the hallway, take the kid, and leave.

 

He can’t stop to wonder what the hell he’s going to do once he has some other guy’s kid in his custody. One step at a time.

 

The door marked 115 swings open almost immediately after he knocks, revealing a tall, beaming blond man on the other side, who wastes _zero_ time surveying him intently with glowing golden eyes.

 

Not what he was expecting. Just par for the course, tonight.

 

“So _you’re_ the Kagami everyone’s been talking about!” the guy crows, his smile turning a little wolfish as he steps back to let Taiga in, “Damn...that lucky bastard…”

 

“I...what?” Taiga stammers, still frozen in the doorway in a state of shock.

 

“Language, Kise-kun,” chides a softer, much more subdued voice, from behind the blond guy. Taiga looks. And then does a double-take.

 

“Wha -- no way,” he gapes. When Aomine said ‘Tetsu’, he didn’t know that meant... “No fucking way, _Kuroko?”_

 

Kuroko frowns, “Hello, Kagami-kun,” he says, as if they only saw each other last like, yesterday, “Please refrain from using such language as well, as there are children present.”

 

There sure are. Well, one child, to be precise, who decides to come careening into the entryway at that moment on stubby, stumbling legs, wailing at the top of her voice in either anguish or euphoria, Taiga can't tell. He does shut the door behind him quickly, though, in case she tries to escape like a cat. Shit, she barely even comes up past his _knee.._.

 

“Tetsu-chan!” Yui yells urgently, coming to a stop by crashing into Kuroko’s leg and wrapping her pudgy arms around it for balance, “I found blue!”

 

She waves one of her fists in the general direction of Kuroko’s face, clutching a dark blue wooden block between her tiny fingers. A small smile crosses Kuroko’s face as he stoops down to take it from her.

 

“Thank you, Yui. We’ll have to finish construction on your tower another time,” then he turns his familiar, ice blue eyes on Taiga again, though the smile doesn’t leave them, “Long time no see, Kagami-kun.”

 

 _Yeah, no shit._ Biting his tongue on the knee-jerk response, Taiga just shakes his head in exasperation, but even so, he can’t fight the grin tugging at his cheeks, “It’s been literal _years,_ man, and you act like I was just out of town for the week. I guess some things never change.”

 

 _Then again,_ he thinks, lowering his gaze to peer at the toddler hanging off Kuroko’s leg, _it seems like some things really do._ “So, what, you’re babysitting now?”

 

“So it would seem,” Kuroko replies, without inflection, “Though I assure you, Yui is an isolated case. Extenuating circumstances, and all.”

 

“Ah.” Taiga’s not really sure he wants to unpack that, or find out what _extenuating_ means. And Kuroko doesn’t seem all that keen on explaining further.

 

“Since you are arriving alone, and almost three hours ahead of schedule, is it safe to assume that Aomine-kun is...currently out of commission?”

 

The blond guy Taiga thinks is called Kise makes a noise of protest, “You make it sound so _grim,_ Kurokocchi, just ask if Aominecchi got stupid drunk and call it a night.”

 

“He did,” Taiga says, tearing his eyes away from Yui, who finally seems to have noticed him and is now staring openly with two fingers in her mouth, her other hand still clenched tight in the fabric of Kuroko’s slacks. “Get drunk, I mean. It...it was my fault, though, I took him to the bar, I just didn’t expect…”

 

“ _Listen_ to him!” Kise exclaims to Kuroko, a grin exploding across his face, “Bless his heart, defending that absolute _doofus_ \--!”

 

“Aomine-kun is…” Kuroko interrupts, “Not always the best at recognizing his own limitations,” Kise snorts, but Kuroko continues undeterred, “And he has been under considerable pressure, for quite some time.” He turns the wooden block over in his hand absently, studying it on all sides with mild interest. Taiga’s not always great at reading subtext, but even he gets that.

 

“Yeah, um...I was actually gonna ask, how did that…? I mean --” he gestures uselessly with his hands, looking between Yui and Kuroko and trying not to overstep.

 

Kise and Kuroko exchange a look, and the latter just smiles, “ _That_ is Aomine-kun’s story to tell, and I’m sure he will, eventually...but in the meantime, I suppose I can give you a brief overview.”

 

Bending down, he scoops up Yui and fits her squirming form against his hip, pressing the block into her hands to keep her busy, “During high school, Aomine-kun and his childhood friend Momoi-san had...intimate relations, resulting accidentally in Yui’s conception. Aomine-kun volunteered to take full responsibility for her, so that Momoi-san would be able to go away to university, and has been raising her almost entirely on his own ever since.”

 

“Wait, since _high school?_ ” Taiga blurts, already reeling, “How old was he?”

 

“I believe he was seventeen, when Yui was born.”

 

“Jesus…”

 

“Mind you, it hasn’t always been a smooth road,” Kuroko continues, “But overall he has made some pretty commendable progress since then.”

 

“Yeah, Aominecchi’s a good dad,” Kise chips in cheerily, “Right, Yui?”

 

“Yep!” Yui agrees, putting one corner of the wooden block in her mouth and leaning against Kuroko’s shoulder. Then her little eyebrows start to pull together in a frown, “Where’s Daddy?”

 

“You’ll see him in just a moment,” Kuroko tells her soothingly, “Right now, we’re going to go with Kagami-kun, okay?”

 

Yui’s lower lip is already trembling before he finishes, and tears are gathering rapidly in her eyes. Taiga takes a step back against the door in alarm, bracing for the impending storm. He doesn’t spend a lot of time around young kids in general, but even he knows what happens next.

 

“I want my _daddy!”_ Yui screams, throwing the block at the floor as the floodgates open and tears start flowing in earnest down her round, reddened cheeks.

 

The guy called Kise is now fluttering around Yui, flailing his arms and trying his best to calm her down, but his frantic movements only seem to be making matters worse, and Kuroko’s quiet reassurances and gentle shaking don’t seem to be having any effect either. Yui is bawling wordlessly now, clinging to Kuroko’s shirt and trying to push him away at the same time, her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth wide open as she shrieks and sobs loud enough to shake the walls.

 

After a moment, Taiga takes his hands down from attempting to cover his ears and block out the noise  -- to no avail -- and holds them out to Kuroko.

 

“Give her to me!” he says over the din, fully intending to just haul her, monstrous tantrum and all, back to the car, to give her what she wants as quick as possible and get this over with. Besides, surely this level of ear-splitting chaos will be enough to rouse Aomine, and then he can deal with her.

 

Kuroko seems to understand his line of thinking, and carefully hands the struggling ball of raw outrage  over.

 

But surprisingly, as soon as she’s transferred somewhat awkwardly into Taiga’s grasp, Yui stops crying. She’s still whimpering a little, and sniffles every now and then through the mess of mucous that her nose has become, but otherwise she just stares at Taiga with wide, wet eyes, her outburst all but forgotten. Apparently, she hadn’t been expecting that.

 

“Um…” Taiga says cautiously, holding her firmly away from his body like a ticking bomb. His ears are still ringing, and if he says the wrong thing now, he could easily set off another explosion, “Hi, Yui...I’m your, uh...your uncle Taiga?”

 

He hears a strangled gasp, and spares a glance to see Kuroko cover his mouth conspicuously, hiding a laugh. On his other side, Kise is biting his lips and watching with obvious, unrestrained glee. He presses on regardless, forcing an encouraging smile.

 

“So, uh...anyway, I’m just gonna take you to your dad now, is that okay?”

 

Yui stares at him a moment longer, and then just closes her mouth and nods jerkily, “M’kay.”

 

“I’m gonna die,” Kise whispers, loudly, to Kuroko, “This is so perfect.”

 

“Hush, Kise-kun,” Kuroko says, and it has a much more successful impact on Kise than it did on Yui earlier. He shuts up, but his tawny eyes are still shining. “Will you be needing any assistance, Kagami-kun?”

 

Taiga looks at the now pacified, wet-faced child in his hands and shrugs with only a little bit of hysteria, “Guess I’ll find that out, won’t I?”

 

“So brave,” Kise says solemnly, putting a hand on his heart, “So noble --”

 

“If you do end up in need of my help,” Kuroko cuts him off, “You know where to find me.”

 

“Yeah,” Taiga says, pushing down a renewed surge of panic at the thought of carrying Yui out the door and across the parking lot by himself, “Thanks.”

 

_What if I drop her? What happens if you drop a kid, do they die? Shit, Aomine’s totally gonna kill me if she gets hurt --_

 

“Hey. It’ll be fine, Kagamicchi,” Kise says. Taiga blinks at him in surprise. Both at the strangely familiar honorific from a near-total stranger, and the unwavering assurance coming from him.

 

“Yeah,” he repeats, situating Yui a little more comfortably in his arms and taking a deep breath.

 

“I am surprised that you’re going to so much trouble to help Aominecchi and his kid, though,” Kise continues, “I mean, after you basically just met.”

 

“I’m not,” Kuroko says simply, with one of his mysterious, knowing smiles. Taiga senses the unspoken compliment, but he’s not sure if it’s directed at his character, or Aomine’s.

 

“Yeah, well...I kind of put him in this situation, so I guess I should be the one to help him out,” he shrugs, “And next time, we can just skip the alcohol.”

 

“‘ _Next time’_ ,” Kise hisses at Kuroko, clearly delighted. Kuroko’s face doesn’t change, but he does nod slightly in approval.

 

“I should probably get going,” Taiga mutters, eyeing Yui nervously. She has two fingers in her mouth again, and the other hand is winding into the sleeve of his shirt. He still feels vaguely like he might pass out, but Kise and Kuroko’s words did help with that. Somewhat.

 

“Goodnight, Kagami-kun,” Kuroko says, “And good luck.”

 

“Yeah, see you, Kagamicchi!” Kise adds, with a blazing grin.

 

“Okay,” Taiga agrees, and doesn’t think of the implication of that until he’s out the door, with Aomine’s daughter snuggled trustingly in his arms.

 

No, really. This is _not_ how he expected tonight to go, like, at all.

 

.

 

. 

 

 

 

> When he walked into the apartment, Aominecchi was reading a book.
> 
>  
> 
> Not a magazine, not a sports periodical, an actual _book_ , with an actual _spine_ , thick enough to bend over his knee and apparently containing very few pictures. Ryouta had to take a moment in the doorway to process what he was seeing. It was like seeing a dog use a typewriter; something just didn’t add up.
> 
>  
> 
> “I’m here, Aominecchi!” he announced as he approached the sofa, leaning down so he could peer at the conspicuous object in Aominecchi’s lap.
> 
>  
> 
> “Satsuki gave it to me,” Aominecchi explained dismissively, letting the book fall shut. A friendly, if rather simple illustration of a sleeping baby cradled in its mother’s arms dominated the front cover. It wasn’t _Parenting for Dummies_ , per se, but it certainly had that cast.
> 
>  
> 
> “Momocchi was here?” asked Ryouta, reaching out to inspect the book with interest. Aominecchi readily relinquished it and leaned back on the sofa, already shaking his head.
> 
>  
> 
> “Nah, she sent it in the mail. Feels like maybe she’s trying to tell me something.”
> 
>  
> 
> Ryouta started flitting through the first few pages of the book -- ‘ _Chapter One: Get Ready To Meet Your New Baby!’ --_ and nodded absently. He wasn’t sure whether the lack of faith was geared more toward Aominecchi’s parental capabilities or his reading comprehension, but either way this did seem a little patronizing.
> 
>  
> 
> “And yet you’re still reading it?” Emphasis on the word _reading._ He’d once heard Aominecchi complain that reading was a waste of time since smartphones had been invented. He still wasn’t sure he followed that logic, and Aominecchi hadn’t bothered to elaborate even then, but still...this was an interesting development.
> 
>  
> 
> Aominecchi just shrugged, “Yeah, well, there’s only so much you can get out of Yahoo Answers, and it’s not like there’s anyone else I can ask about this stuff.”
> 
>  
> 
> Ryouta pursed his lips, still skimming through the book idly -- ‘ _Chapter Seven: Co-parenting’ --_  “I guess not. Is Yui sleeping?"
> 
>  
> 
> “For about two seconds,” Aominecchi said grimly, “It’s been getting harder to tire her out lately, but she should be ---”
> 
>  
> 
> As if on cue, a loud, high screech echoed through the apartment, emanating from Aominecchi’s room. Aominecchi let his head fall back with a groan and closed his eyes.
> 
>  
> 
> “Fuck...never mind.” He got up, and headed for the direction of the noise, leaving Ryouta still holding the book in one hand. Usually, this was the part where Aominecchi would smirk tiredly or make some sarcastic comment for Ryouta’s benefit about his daughter losing beauty sleep. Right now he didn’t look like joking at all. He looked like a man who had reached the end of his rope.
> 
>  
> 
> Ryouta sat down on the sofa tentatively, listening to Yui’s wailing, undercut by Aominecchi’s softer, but increasingly frustrated attempts to console her. On a good day, Aominecchi was really good at putting up a front and keeping his cool in the midst of the baby’s near-daily screaming fits, but Ryouta supposed all days couldn’t be good days. He may have just walked in on a bad one.
> 
>  
> 
> It was the first and last time he heard Aominecchi actually raise his voice at his daughter. He was sitting on that sofa, the cheerful book on parenting Momocchi had sent now open on his lap, when suddenly, in the other room, Aominecchi violated one of its biggest rules. _Don’t lose your temper._
> 
>  
> 
> “For fuck’s sake, be _quiet!”_
> 
>  
> 
> Ryouta flinched, and set down the book before getting to his feet. Yui, of course, did not quiet down at all; if anything, her piercing cries only ratcheted higher. But that wasn’t as concerning to Ryouta as the fact that he couldn’t hear Aominecchi at all anymore.
> 
>  
> 
> Peering around the bedroom door, he could see Yui in her crib, shaking her tiny, clenched fists and shrieking to high heaven. Aominecchi was sitting on the edge of his bed on the other side of the room, hands clamped over his ears and eyes squeezed shut.
> 
>  
> 
> “Aominecchi?” he asked as he approached, struggling to make himself heard over the racket. When Aominecchi didn’t move or answer, he sat down next to him on the bed, putting a hand on his shoulder.
> 
>  
> 
> “I can’t,” Aominecchi grit out, his mouth shaping around the words that were drowned out by Yui’s next crescendo, “I can’t do this. I can’t _fucking_ do this anymore.”
> 
>  
> 
> “Yes you can,” Ryouta murmured, unsure if Aominecchi could even hear him, “What do you usually do when this happens?”
> 
>  
> 
> “Fuck what I _usually_ do,” Aominecchi snapped, “None of it works. Nothing in the _book_ works, fuck-all of what _I_ try to do works, and Satsuki isn’t --!”
> 
>  
> 
> He cut himself off, but even so, Ryouta had to avert his gaze as that sank in. _Oh._
> 
>  
> 
> “Usually,” Aominecchi said tightly, “If nothing else works, I put her in the car and just...drive somewhere. That usually calms her down.”
> 
>  
> 
> “So why don’t you --?”
> 
>  
> 
> “‘Cause the fucking car won’t run!” Aominecchi burst out, “It hasn’t been running all week but I don't have time to --!”
> 
>  
> 
> “Okay, calm down!” Ryouta interrupted firmly, “You can’t do anything to calm Yui down if you’re not calm yourself.”
> 
>  
> 
> “I’m _exhausted,_ Kise. _”_
> 
>  
> 
> Ryouta let out a deep sigh, “I know.”
> 
>  
> 
> For a moment, the only sound was Yui’s grating screams and hoarse, gulping breaths. There didn’t seem to be an end in sight.
> 
>  
> 
> “...Look, for right now, let’s just put Yui’s seat in my car and take her for a drive. Then, when you _both_ calm down, we can figure out what to do for next time.”
> 
>  
> 
> Aominecchi looked up at him, with what might have been his approximation of gratitude, “Yeah?”
> 
>  
> 
> “Yeah,” Ryouta repeated, “But just promise me...one thing.”
> 
>  
> 
> “Don’t ever yell at Yui again?” Aominecchi guessed morosely. From his tone, you would think he had killed a man, so in Ryouta’s mind, it wasn't worth bringing up.
> 
>  
> 
> “No,” he said, holding his gaze meaningfully, “Don’t ever say you _can’t do this_ again. You've got this...okay?”
> 
>  
> 
> Aominecchi swallowed, but seemed to be ever-so-slightly more heartened by that response. And that was all Ryouta was after.
> 
>  
> 
> “Okay.”

 

.

 

.

 

Taiga only realizes after he’s settled Yui into her car seat that he has no idea how the damn thing works. There are so many...buckles, and all his attempts to arrange them into some configuration that makes sense have been fruitless so far.

 

Time to call in an expert, then.

 

“Aomine?” he prompts urgently, poking his still sleeping form in the arm, and then the face when this yields no response, “C’mon dude, I need your help!”

 

“Up, Daddy!” Yui chips in, most helpfully, because like clockwork, Aomine jolts at the sound of her voice, and proceeds to look around the car with disoriented, dazed eyes.

 

“Sorry, Yui,” he yawns distractedly, as they fall on her, “...Must’ve dozed off.”

 

“You sure did, dumb…” Taiga breaks off, remembering Kuroko’s warning about language, and finishes lamely, “...head.”

 

“Wha...Kagami?” Aomine blinks, before squinting at him suspiciously, “Why’re you still here?”

 

“I never finished taking your drunk ass home,” Taiga retorts instinctively, before shooting a guilty glance at Yui, who babbles something of her own commentary that he doesn’t quite catch. _Oops._ “I mean...I don’t know how to buckle this thing, and I assume you do. Can you give me a hand or something?”

 

“You just,” Aomine starts to explain, seeming impatient, and waving his hand around vaguely, “You put the top things in the bottom thing, and clip it together.”

 

Taiga stares at him, at a loss. “That is...literally the least helpful set of instructions I’ve ever been given. You wanna try again?”

 

“Ugh, fine,” Aomine grunts, pushing out of his seat and practically falling out the passenger side door. Taiga doesn’t know what else he expected, of course he’s still fucking drunk.

 

“Give it here,” he demands as he joins Taiga on the other side of the car. There’s no point in arguing, so Taiga hands over the confusing straps and buckles and stands back slightly.

 

“Daddy!” Yui exclaims happily, leaning out of her seat to thrust her tiny hands in Aomine’s face.

 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Aomine says as he pushes her back gently, ignoring her squirming, and though he still seems out of it, and his fingers fumble a little, it must be muscle memory at this point because within seconds, the straps are secured around Yui’s shoulders and chest and the buckles all click shut.

 

“There, that’s how it’s done,” he boasts, though Taiga still totally missed whatever he’d done to accomplish that. _Whatever, at least now we can get out of here._

 

“Okay, now get in, and tell me how to get to your house.”

 

“I don’t need a damn chauffeur,” Aomine slurs stubbornly. Taiga sighs, and summons patience.

 

“Yes, you do. You’re still drunk and I’m still taking you home. So get in or I’ll strap you into your _own_ car seat.”

 

“You don’t even know how to do that,” Aomine grumbles, but he still does as he says, clambering back into the passenger seat and yanking the door shut with a distinctly childish slam.

 

Taiga slides in behind the wheel, and Aomine gives him another address. He sucks at giving directions just as much as explaining how to buckle a car seat, and threatens to take the wheel himself more than once, but after getting turned around for the third or fourth time, all three of them finally arrive in one piece. Yui, for one, seems to have fallen asleep on the way there, and Aomine doesn’t seem too far off. When Taiga attempts to take Yui out of her seat, however, he suddenly snaps to attention.

 

“I’ll do it,” he says, all but pushing Taiga out of the way, and there’s such a strong, uncharacteristic note of anxiety in his voice that Taiga doesn’t protest, just stands aside in surprise. He doesn’t think it’s a matter of distrust, just...a kind of _need_ that he doesn’t understand. Can't understand, not without taking a good long walk in Aomine's shoes. 

 

He doesn’t know why he follows Aomine up to the apartment complex, other than the fact that he’s still holding the keys and Aomine hasn’t asked for them back, but Aomine didn’t tell him to leave when he got out of the car, and still doesn’t, even after they reach the front door.

 

“Um,” Taiga prompts, as he thumbs through the key ring in confusion. There are quite a few keys on it, and while the black car key and its fob are obvious, he has no idea which of the others open what.

 

“It’s the first one,” Aomine says, supporting his sleeping daughter against his shoulder and swaying just a little where he stands, “The silver one.”

 

Taiga still expects him to take it, but he doesn’t, so for a moment, neither of them do anything. Then he takes the hint, and fits the indicated key into the lock.

 

Aomine’s apartment is on the second floor, and after looking up the imposing flight of stairs, Taiga feels a surge of unease about him carrying _anything_ up all those steps in his current state. It would be a feat in itself if he made it to the top without breaking his neck.

 

“Let me take Yui,” he asks, offering the keys by their carabiner as a trade. Aomine looks like he wants to protest, his mouth already opening to do so as pride and protectiveness wage war on his face...but in the end, it seems like plain exhaustion beats them out.

 

“Fine,” he sighs, and passes Yui over to him, somehow without waking her up. Though it occurs to Taiga, as he takes to the stairs with Aomine right on his heels, that it may not be as easy to rouse her from sleep as he would have imagined. She doesn’t stir the entire time, and by the time they reach Aomine’s door and he finally manages to unlock it  -- after dropping his keys twice and trying to put one in upside down -- there is a considerable, spreading patch of drool on the front of Taiga’s shirt.

 

“Heads up, it’s gonna be messy,” Aomine warns him candidly, before pushing the door open.

 

Whatever he was picturing, Taiga is not prepared for what’s on the other side of it. A sea of brightly colored kids’ toys all but swallows the floor, with very little space to walk. He thinks there might be some kind of tatami somewhere under the chaos, but he can’t be sure.

 

“Damn,” he says softly.

 

“Told you so,” Aomine shrugs, and shuts the door behind him, “‘S a losing battle to keep it picked up; who’s got the time?”

 

Other than that, the front room seems mostly empty of decor; a plain-looking grey sofa, a low wood coffee table that might convert into a kotatsu in winter, and currently appears to be covered in Cheerios, a smallish flat screen TV on the other end of the room. No pictures or paintings on any of the walls, or anywhere else that he can see. There’s a western-style table and chairs toward the back, as a sort of makeshift dining room, and there might have been a balcony behind that, hidden by drawn, opaque white curtains.

 

By force of habit, Taiga steps on the heel of one shoe to push it off, then removes the other, but he notices when he looks up that Aomine doesn’t bother, just forges somewhat unsteadily ahead through the clutter of toys, clearing a path by kicking them aside. Hiking Yui up a little higher against his shoulder, Taiga follows him in his socks.

 

He stops abruptly, though, as Aomine leads him through a narrow, clearly baby-proofed kitchen -- every drawer and cabinet has a lock, even the ones that must surely be out of Yui’s reach -- his eye caught by the collage of various papers tacked up on the refrigerator. The rest of the place is so devoid of personal touches that it stands out, and a closer inspection only piques his interest more. About half of it appears to be made up of Yui originals; sheets of notebook paper and pages from coloring books and other bits of stationery that have been scribbled on exuberantly with crayon or marker, all hung with care so that none are obscured or overlapping.

 

There are a handful of photos on the upper half of the fridge: several featuring Aomine and Yui; one of the pair on the sofa next to Kuroko, who is holding the camera selfie-style, a rare, amused smile on his face; one of a much younger Yui, with chubby cheeks and a wide smile showing exactly four teeth, in the arms of an unfamiliar woman with long, light hair and soft, affectionate eyes.

 

Then there’s one that Taiga has to scan for an instant before he even finds Aomine. There are at least a dozen people in frame, all of them in black basketball uniforms, some kneeling in front of the taller players, surrounding a massive gold trophy in the center, held aloft by Aomine himself. _Was he the captain?_ He supposes the only way to know would be to ask Aomine directly, but for some reason, he doubts that he actually will.

 

Another figure catches his eye, toward the edge and practically cropped out of the picture. It’s that woman again, though this time her long hair is drawn back in a ponytail, and she’s in a school uniform. It’s hard to tell right away, because her hands are folded in front of her, but the front of it seems to be stretched and rounded just a little by the swell of her stomach. It’s not enough for her to look obviously pregnant, but with previous knowledge, it’s still noticeable. She looks happy, and she’s smiling at the camera, but her eyes are on the players in the middle. Perhaps on one player in particular.

 

On second glance, Aomine does not look happy in the photo. He looks triumphant, with his teammates all rallied around him and the pillar of a first place trophy in one hand, but his expression is unreadable. He does look young, though, much younger than the Aomine in the other pictures, and the Aomine that Taiga just drove home. _Three years really makes that much of a difference?_

 

Tearing his eyes away from seventeen-year-old Aomine, who already knew he was going to be a father in a matter of months, who didn’t smile even while everyone around him was celebrating, even doing the thing he must have loved, and doing it _well,_ Taiga turns his attention to the only other pieces of memorabilia pinned to their stainless steel canvas. One is an official-looking letter with a seal at the top, directly next to the basketball photo, and even without reading it, Taiga recognizes the format. It’s a college scout letter. Skimming the first few lines reveals it to be an invitation to enroll, and after lifting the page slightly, Taiga realizes it’s not the only one. Letters. Lots of them. Letters that Aomine apparently saved but had to decline. And above them, a copy of a birth certificate, stamped with Yui’s tiny, inky footprints.

 

“Hey...what’s the holdup?” Aomine asks from directly beside him. Taiga jumps, and immediately checks to make sure Yui is still asleep. He’d almost forgotten he was even holding her.

 

“I wasn’t -- I mean,” he stammers, “I wasn’t snooping around, I was just --”

 

Aomine snorts, probably louder than he meant to, looking distinctly amused, “Forget about it.”

 

“You’re not mad?”

 

“Nah,” Aomine shrugs, “It’d be pretty stupid to hang all that shit up and then get mad at you for looking at it. Don’t get the wrong idea, though.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“I’m not the kind of seni...senti…” Giving up on pronouncing the word, Aomine continues on heedlessly, “Not the kind of _sap_ that mopes around and makes a shrine to the past or whatever. I just can’t afford a filing cabinet.”

 

For some reason, Taiga finds this hilarious, and can’t keep from laughing out loud. And it may have been the sound or the vibration, or both, but with a sleepy, mumbled complaint, Yui shifts in his arms and starts to wake up. Aomine looks at him -- or, a little bit to the left of him -- reproachfully.

 

“Now look what you did.”

 

“It was your fault,” Taiga argues.

 

“Was not, you were being loud.”

 

“Only because you --!” He stops before he can finish that thought out loud. ... _are really funny even while drunk and delirious._ Nope, not a good way to win an argument. A very good way to lose his remaining dignity. Not tonight.

 

Aomine waits, and Yui lifts her head at that moment to rub one eye with her tiny fist.

 

“I’d get her to bed now...before she notices what time it is.”

 

Taiga’s not sure he gets his drift, because it’s not _that_ late yet, but he’s seen firsthand what Yui is capable of when she feels up to it, so he’s not going to question the warning.

 

The last room he has to see is the bedroom, and it’s shrouded in darkness when he does. Like the living room, it’s pretty bare-bones except for yet more toys, mostly stuffed animals this time, clustered around a wooden crib in the corner, and a small chest of drawers with a wide, flat top that might be pink in the daylight. A paper sliding panel divides the room in half, so he infers that Aomine must sleep on the other side. It feels a bit cramped, but that’s probably to be expected when one small room is forced to become two.

 

“Put her up there,” Aomine says, nodding to the top of the dresser.

 

Taiga hesitates, but ultimately does as he’s told, gently laying Yui on what he now sees is a makeshift changing table. The flat top is padded and covered by a thin sheet. Aomine opens a drawer underneath it and fishes out a tiny sleepshirt and a pair of pants, apparently at random. He changes Yui into her pajamas the same way he put her in her car seat, almost on autopilot, with some apparent loss of dexterity in his wavering hands, and then lifts her up and sets her in her crib. She mumbles something sleepy that Taiga can’t hear, and Aomine ruffles her hair lightly, before covering her with a blanket and tucking her in. He turns away, feeling like he’s intruding on something private.

 

“Hey.” He stops at the sound of Aomine’s voice, and looks up to see a pair of dark blue eyes trying to focus on him in the gloom. “Stay...if you want.”

 

“What?”

 

“You still don’t have a car, right?”

 

“I can just call a cab --”

 

“Or,” Aomine interrupts, “You can stay the night...and I’ll take you home tomorrow.”

 

“But --” Taiga starts to protest, but he doesn’t get far.

 

“You can say no,” Aomine says matter-of-factly, “It’s up to you.”

 

Taiga bites his lip, wondering why that no doesn’t come to him more easily. He can think of a million good reasons why _not_ to take Aomine up on one drunken offer when he’s already refused another. But on the other hand...

 

Aomine shrugs, already walking away from him.

 

“Just think about it.”

 

TBC

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I got this chapter, of almost 6k words, done in two days...that's a record for this story, especially considering this _chapter_ had its own outline.  
>  Thought I should update for Father's Day with some good ol' single dad content (also, our first time seeing Kagami and Kise's perspective!) but if parts of this seem a bit rushed, that's because they are. I stayed up til 5 am two nights in a row to finish this.  
> Comments are my lifeblood, so please...give me life...


	6. Chapter 6

Daiki wakes up slowly, a narrow slice of sunlight irritating his eyelids through the slatted blinds above his bed. His head is kind of fuzzy, and his mouth tastes sour and feels like he must have brushed his teeth with sand, if he brushed them at all. He’s also fully dressed; the outer seam of his jeans digging into his thigh where he put his weight on it through the night. _What time is it…?_

 

A glance at his phone screen reveals two things: the battery is almost completely drained, and it’s after 10 am. He’s supposed to be at work in less than two hours, and he totally forgot to set an alarm, or even charge his goddamn phone, last night.

 

_Last night…_

 

Okay, he’s kind of drawing a blank on last night, but he’ll worry about that later. More importantly, he has to get Yui up and dressed right now, and should probably change out of his own stale and wrinkled clothes, before he officially starts running late.

 

He’s slouching across the room, stretching his stiff muscles and trying to decide if there’s time to squeeze in a quick shower before he leaves, when his eyes land on Yui’s crib, and the world screeches to a stop.

 

It’s empty. Yui is gone.

 

For a moment, he can’t comprehend it, and just stands there frozen, staring at the unexplained absence of his daughter; a sudden, gaping void that cracked open in his universe. His heart is pounding, forcing blood to his brain, but he can’t fucking think.

 

Then panic, in no uncertain terms, rushes in, as a hundred horrible scenarios flash through his mind in rapid succession. _She got out. She ran away and fell off the balcony. Someone broke in and kidnapped her. What if I left her somewhere -- where the_ **_fuck_ ** _would I leave her? In the car? Did I fucking_ **_forget_ ** _her in the car and now she’s fucking suffocating -- or worse --_

 

An involuntary, animal sound of distress claws out of his throat, and he wrenches himself away from the deserted crib and starts pacing, frantic, nonsensically turning things over and checking every corner and crevice at least twice, until he finally accepts with a sickening plunge in his gut that Yui is nowhere in the room. Swallowing hard, he stumbles to the door and jerks it open, filling his lungs to call for her, or scream to the ceiling, as he skids into the kitchen.

 

And there Yui is, sitting safe and whole right across the room, rolling her favorite purple toy car back and forth on the floor amid intermittent “ _vrooms”_ and “ _beeps_ ” to herself. She looks up at Daiki with a celebratory noise once she notices him, and he collapses against the doorframe in absolute _relief_ , shaking so bad he can barely stay upright and breathing in tight, irregular gasps. _Thank God...thank_ _God…_

 

He spends so long just staring at his daughter as she resumes playing, verifying with his own eyes that she really is there and really is okay, that he doesn’t even notice someone else saying his name until a sharp poke in the upper arm brings him back to the rest of the world.

 

“-- omine. Aomine. Hey, don’t pass out on me, man, okay?” Kagami says, red eyes coming into focus as he hovers in front of him anxiously, “You good?”

 

“Jesus fucking _Christ,”_ Daiki replies, pressing his forehead against the cool fake wood of the door jamb for an instant, before pushing off and taking a wobbly step away from it. His heart rate is still pretty jacked up, and he hasn’t ruled out the possibility that he might puke right there on the kitchen floor, but the roaring in his ears has died down and he’s starting to feel almost human again, so that’s a good sign.

 

“Uh...heh, maybe don’t say that in front of --” Kagami starts, but Daiki cuts him off as something important clicks in his head, now that there’s room in it again for things other than Yui’s immediate safety.

 

“What are _you_ doing here?” he demands, taking a deep, steadying breath and trying to get the rest of this picture to make sense. 10:30 am, Sunday, Kagami Taiga standing in Daiki’s kitchen in yesterday’s clothes, looking innocently bewildered as if he didn’t just _take_ Daiki’s _daughter_ while he was _sleeping_ and trigger the biggest panic attack of his _life._

 

“Um...you let me in?” Kagami says, slowly, raising one of his funky eyebrows in evident confusion, “Last night? You said I could stay the night, remember?”

 

No, Daiki doesn’t exactly remember that, but he’s still dragging bits and pieces of last night out of a big, drunk fog of obscurity right now. He’s not going to tell that to Kagami, though.

 

“And you actually _did?”_ he says instead, disbelieving. _Whatever_ he might have said last night, Kagami had to have gotten enough of a visual just from setting foot in Daiki’s puny, Hasbro-infested apartment to send any reasonable guy packing. And yet he’s _still here_ the next morning? Apparently even catering to Yui’s needs without having to be told how...

 

“Wait, back up…” he manages, before Kagami has a chance to reply, “You picked Yui up from Tetsu’s last night?”

 

“Uh-huh,”

 

“By _yourself?”_

 

“Well, you were asleep...”

 

 _‘Course I fucking was._ “Well, you should’ve --” he begins hotly, breaking off as something else occurs to him, “Where did _you_ sleep?”

 

“On the couch,” Kagami says breezily, “You kept trying to get me to take your bed, but you really looked like you needed it.” His eyes cut to the side, and that could mean anything.

 

Great. Just fucking great.

 

“You didn’t have to --” Daiki starts, pinching the bridge of his nose as a wave of irritable mortification sweeps over him, “I was _drunk_ , I didn’t know what I was _saying --_ ” _God, what_ **_else_ ** _did I say to him?_ He doesn’t even want to know the damage he might have done, to his reputation if nothing else, in a matter of just a few hours. All he does know is the last time he drank to the point of memory inhibition, he was apparently falling all over Kise’s lap, rambling ad nauseam about the cultural impacts of _Space Jam._ Again -- high school, and parties. Back when life made fucking sense. _“_ You really didn’t have to…”

 

“It’s fine,” Kagami says, looking at him in all seriousness, “What was I supposed to do, leave you like that with Yui all on your own?”

 

So...he just felt obligated to stay, then. Out of concern, or...a sense of moral responsibility, or something. Honestly, Daiki doesn’t know if that makes it better or worse.

 

“If...you say so,” he gets out, awkwardly avoiding his gaze as he decides to just drop the issue and push ahead. _Moving on._ “I uh...I’ve gotta get ready for work now, but I can give you a lift on the way if you still need a ride. D’you want breakfast?”

 

“I was just trying to make some, actually,” Kagami says, “But I couldn’t find any pots or pans, and also...don’t take this the wrong way, but you really need to buy some groceries, man.”

 

“I just _did,_ ” Daiki says, drawing up indignantly and setting the rest of that bizarre statement aside for now, “You were there, remember?”

 

“Really? ‘Cause...” Stooping to casually open Daiki’s fridge, exposing mostly-bare shelves save for a few stray jars and bottles and half a carton of milk in the door, Kagami levels him with a reproachful look, “That doesn’t look like groceries to me.”

 

“There’s stuff in the freezer,” Daiki retorts, crossing his arms over his chest in defiance, “And the cupboards over there.”

 

A curious expression crosses Kagami’s face, and he unlatches one of the cupboard doors and swings it open to inspect its contents. Daiki waits impatiently while he takes down a box and turns it over.

 

“Pop-Tarts?” he says, a note of pity in his voice, “Dude…”

 

Before Daiki can summon up a scathing enough response to that, Yui decides to interrupt, loudly, from her stakeout on the floor.

 

“I want oatmeal!” she yells, launching a toy car clear across the kitchen for emphasis, “And juice!”

 

Daiki glances at Kagami doubtfully, wondering if it’s worth the effort to try and wring a “ _please_ ” out of her, at least while they have company. It’s been so goddamn long since he’s had...a _guest_ that isn’t Tetsu or Kise that he’s honestly not sure what the protocol is here. He supposes it would mostly come down to what Kagami is to him, but right now, he doesn’t have a clear answer for that either. After everything he did last night, can they still be called strangers?

 

“Well...” Kagami says at last, drawing it out with an air of attempting to compromise, “I guess oatmeal is better than Pop-Tarts?”

 

“How do you figure?” Daiki snorts before he can stop himself, “Never mind. Do you want bananas in your oatmeal, Yui?”

 

“Strawberry!” Yui demands. Daiki sighs.

 

“We used up all the strawberries, remember? How about --”

 

“Blueberry!”

 

“It’s not even blueberry _season_ yet,”

 

“How about,” Kagami interjects, still peering up into Daiki’s cupboards thoughtfully, “Peanut butter _and_ bananas?”

 

Daiki starts to scowl at him mockingly, because what kind of Americanized excuse for oatmeal has _peanut butter_ in it, but apparently, Yui is all about this idea. Though to be fair, it might just be the mere concept of “ _and”_ that she's excited about.

 

“Fine, sure,” he says over her insistent exclamations of “ _Juice, too!”,_ before reaching up into the cabinet for the instant oats and gesturing with the bag at Kagami, “It should only take a minute, but if you wanna shower or something while -- ”

 

“I’ve got it,” Kagami interrupts, inciting Daiki to raise his eyebrows at him, because what kind of _audacity…?_ In the same instant, though, Kagami shuts his mouth and shuffles his big socked feet in embarrassment, seeming to realize the same thing, “That is...um…you said you have to get ready for work, right? I can handle Yui and breakfast while you do that.”

 

For a moment, Daiki is about to argue. It’s instinctive for one thing, and for another, it’s _his_ house, and Yui is _his_ daughter, and the very idea of letting some random guy he just met like, _last week_ putter around his kitchen like he owns the place is crazy on so many levels… But that moment passes, and then another, and Kagami still looks flustered but he sure doesn’t seem to be joking, and time is still ticking, so at long last, he finally just heaves a put-upon sigh and gives in.

 

“Fine…” He glances at Yui, happily playing with her cars on the floor, and swallows past his reluctance to let her out of his immediate line of sight ever again. “I’ll uh...be right back, then? So I can like, get her dressed and stuff...” Which, he thinks as he sweeps his gaze over his daughter, is definitely a must before he takes her to daycare, because it honestly looks like her current clothes were picked out by someone blind. Or blind drunk, as the case may have been; he's fairly sure her nightshirt is on inside out and it’s half tucked into pants that it _does not_ match.

 

Turning back to Kagami, he jerkily hands over the bag of oats, and then hesitates, feeling like the gesture is somehow incomplete...like something is missing. A “ _thank you”_ is in order, that’s what it is. That’s what proper adults do, right?

 

“Hey, don’t worry,” Kagami cuts in, before he can struggle one out, tilting his chin in Yui’s direction meaningfully, “I’m watching her. So if _you_ wanna shower or something, go ahead.”

 

That does it.

 

“Thanks -- thank you,” Daiki stammers, in a rush that probably betrays some of his staggering disbelief, and Kagami’s face contorts with surprise. He feels a strange, sudden urge to laugh at it.

 

Hell, he doesn’t expect Kagami to realize that for him, the concept of a _private shower_ \-- one that doesn’t involve corralling Yui in the bathroom with him so she can remain supervised while he rushes to get clean -- is a huge novelty all on its own. It’s a giddy, almost whimsical thought, it feels like fucking Christmas. No, of course he wouldn't get that; the magnitude of the gesture is totally lost on him.

 

“Uh...sure thing,” Kagami says eventually, probably going for noncommittal, but he still looks confused, “Don’t mention it.”

 

Only when he shuts the bathroom door behind him does Daiki realize what a crime it is that Kagami opted to let him shower first. It results in five whole seconds of him standing there, staring at his shower curtain and remembering that it is covered in hundreds of brightly-colored, creepily grinning cartoon fish. Thinking hysterically of tearing it down and pitching it over the balcony railing. Thinking of Yui with a crown of lather in her hair, naming every one of the vile things in a sing-song voice and splashing bath water all over his shirt. Thinking _fuck my entire life._

 

Pushing down a couple horrifying thoughts -- such as, what if Kagami got up to take a piss in the night and flicked on the light to see _that_ monstrosity? -- he shakes his head and cranks up the water, strips out of his sweaty clothes and steps under the spray. There’s an awfully kid-friendly bath mat under his feet and a procession of rubber toys along the rim of the tub, but nothing trumps the fucking fish.

 

Now that he has a minute to himself, while he soaps up and lets the jets rinse off the lousy, grimy feeling that’s hung over him since waking up, he can’t seem to stop thinking about how Kagami actually ended up staying the night. Really, just doing the gentlemanly thing and taking Daiki home after paying witness to his laughably poor alcohol tolerance would have been remarkable enough; that he went out of his way to pick up Yui too is downright shocking...and anything beyond that is just overkill.

 

 _I mean, who even does that? What the hell does he think he’s gonna get out of sticking around?_ The casual charade has been blown, Kagami has the full picture now, and he _has_ to see all the complicating factors that would come with getting involved with Daiki, so why bother wasting any more of his time? Why keep being so patient and agreeable when it must be clear as day that this isn’t going to be an easy hookup, and he’s going to have to work around Daiki’s fucking _schedule_ to get even a sliver of his free time to himself? Why not just cut his losses and try his luck somewhere else?

 

The technicolor cartoon fish staring him in the face don’t seem to have any ideas, and though he racks his brains until the last bit of sudsy water has swirled down the drain, he still doesn’t either. He shuts off the water and shoves the fish aside, no more enlightened than before.   

 

He pauses while getting out of the shower, though, in the process of reaching for a towel, because he swears he can hear the muffled sound of distant music drifting toward him from the other side of the bathroom door. He shakes his head quickly, tipping it from side to side, in case it’s just water in his ears, and frowns at himself in the steamed up mirror when the faint baseline and indistinct vocals don’t seem to dissipate. After quickly scrubbing his hair dry, he throws a clean shirt over his head and yanks on his jeans, so he can cautiously ease the door open and investigate.

 

The music is immediately louder and clearer outside the bathroom, and as he crosses the threshold barefoot and peers into the kitchen, the source becomes obvious. Kagami is there, looking entirely too comfortable standing over Daiki’s stove, and he must have found a pot after all because he’s stirring something, presumably oatmeal, hips swaying slowly as he mouths along to a vaguely R&B-sounding English song playing through the tinny speakers of his phone on the counter beside him. And next to the phone is --

 

“Nope,” Daiki says, shaking his head and dislodging the...weird jumble of feelings that image evoked in him a moment ago as he stalks over with a purpose, because -- “Nope, she _cannot_ sit on the counter, dumbshit!”

  

“Daddy, Uncle Taiga!” Yui says happily, pointing him out to Kagami before allowing him to scoop her off her perch and set her down safely on the floor. Once he does, he can suddenly breathe a little easier, but his shoulders are still tense. He’s letting _“uncle Taiga"_ slide entirely for the time being, but he’s totally gonna bring it up later because _what the actual fuck?_

 

Kagami blinks at him, looking genuinely startled, the long spoon in his hand hovering over the pot as Daiki continues to glare at him until he formulates a response. He vaguely registers that in the background, the song has faded out and the first notes of a new one are starting up.

 

“Um...sorry?” Kagami tries eventually, “I-I didn’t know.”

 

“That’s common sense, moron!” Daiki hisses, “Do you want her to break her neck falling from that height?”

 

“I was watching her,” Kagami argues, setting the spoon down.

 

“Bullshit you were.”

 

A separate, interjecting thought seems to cross Kagami’s face, and he glances at Yui, who is now clambering around Daiki’s ankles asking when breakfast will be done, a furrow coming between his split eyebrows.

 

“What?” Daiki demands, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

“Is the...swearing around her a regular thing?” Kagami ventures, and he doesn’t really _sound_ judgmental, but… “It’s just, Kuroko said --”

 

Daiki holds back an irritated sigh, tipping his head down to look at Yui, who is now bracing a hand on his knee so she can crane her neck to try and see the stove.

 

“When Tetsu has his own kid, he can make whatever rules he wants,” he says, with finality, and Kagami must be better at taking a hint than he thought, because he lets the subject drop.

 

.

 

.

 

 

 

 

 

 

> “I want to make it _very clear_ ,” Shintarou said, for probably the third time, “That this is not an ideal situation for me.”
> 
>  
> 
> This time, Aomine didn’t ignore him, but his muffled reply was far from reassuring.
> 
>  
> 
> “Yeah, I got it. Welcome to the club,” he grunted from where he was lying prone beneath the front of his vehicle, so that only his legs and feet were still visible. Shintarou’s eyebrow twitched, but Aomine seemed to sense that he wasn’t done talking yet, because he beat him to the punch, rolling out on the skateboard supporting his back so that he could meet his eye, his face illuminated by his phone’s tiny flashlight.
> 
>  
> 
> “Trust me, Midorima, you’re not my first choice for a babysitter.” He huffed a laugh, “Hell, you’re not even in the top three, but I’m kinda out of options at this point.” And with that, he disappeared back under the car again, “Just hold her for like...five more minutes, okay? I’m almost done.”
> 
>  
> 
> “What are you even looking for under there?” Shintarou scowled, adjusting his grip on the squirming infant in his arms, who insisted on repeatedly reaching up to attempt to dislodge his glasses from his nose.
> 
>  
> 
> “Fluid leak,” Aomine said shortly, sounding irritable, “That’s usually what’s wrong when transmission cuts out like this, if I could just fucking _find_ it _.._.”
> 
>  
> 
> Shintarou sighed. While it was a certainly rather odd to see Aomine show knowledge or interest in something completely unrelated to basketball, in some form this was still very typical of him. An admittedly impressive depth of expertise, in an absurdly narrow field...to the point of shutting out everything and everyone else.
> 
>  
> 
> Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem, but right now, Shintarou didn’t appreciate being shut out. Nor did he appreciate having a restless, violently teething baby dumped into his lap without warning, all because Kuroko apparently had a conflicting night class and Kise was indisposed with the flu.
> 
>  
> 
> “You should count yourself lucky that Oha Asa predicted a beneficial interaction between Cancers and Leos today,” he said.
> 
>  
> 
> “Thought you said I was a Virgo,” Aomine muttered disinterestedly, reaching for something on the ground beside him and scooting the skateboard further up.
> 
>  
> 
> Shintarou glanced ruefully at the child in his arms, who was currently _chewing_ on today’s prescribed lucky item -- a large, yellow rubber duck -- while looking up at him with wide, guileless eyes.
> 
>  
> 
> “I am not interacting with you.”
> 
>  
> 
> He thought he might have heard Aomine laugh in response to that, “Well you should count yourself lucky she’s being quiet right now,” he replied, “She was a nightmare the past couple of days -- even Kise said he was gonna go deaf if she kept it up.”
> 
>  
> 
> As if on cue, Yui chose that moment to pull her mouth off the duck’s tail with a _pop_ and give Shintarou a wide, gummy smile. He considered grimly that she might have been the culprit behind Kise’s illness, and made a mental note to disinfect the duck and anything else that might have come in contact with her germs as soon as he got home. Assuming he did return home from this encounter in one piece.
> 
>  
> 
> “Right,” he said at last, “Lucky me.”
> 
>  
> 
> A moment later, Aomine eased himself out from underneath the raised frame of his vehicle, sitting up and tossing a dirty rag onto the pavement in defeat.
> 
>  
> 
> “Well?” Shintarou prompted.
> 
>  
> 
> “Nothing,” Aomine scowled, shoving off the skateboard and onto his feet, “No gaps, no spotting, everything under there looks fine.”
> 
>  
> 
> That sounded like good news, but Shintarou had a sinking feeling that he shouldn’t start rejoicing just yet. Aomine looked frustrated, his forehead pinched with annoyance, and he was starting to roll his sleeves up to his elbows.
> 
>  
> 
> “So what does that mean?” he finally dared to ask.
> 
>  
> 
> “It means the problem’s probably under the hood,” Aomine grimaced, bending down to lower the jack suspending the car off the ground, “Can you hang onto Yui for awhile? This may take longer than I thought.”
> 
>  
> 
> Shintarou started to open his mouth in protest, and promptly found a rubbery duck bill being thrust up against it instead. It was alarmingly, _unacceptably_ wet.
> 
>  
> 
> “Longer?” he sputtered, “How much longer?”
> 
>  
> 
> But Aomine had already turned his back and was heading out of the apartment’s garage without another word.
> 
>  
> 
> “Aomine, how _much_ longer?”
> 
>  
> 
> Resisting the urge to go after him and demand an answer, or shove his daughter back into his arms where she belonged, he stayed put, trying to ignore the uncomfortable chafing of the baby’s diaper against his inner arm, and the copious amounts of saliva and bite marks she was inflicting on his sacred item.
> 
>  
> 
> He had explained, _at length_ , to both Kuroko and Aomine, that while he didn’t necessarily _mind_ being in Yui’s proximity as long as she was supervised, he himself did not care for children. Let alone babies, which were loud and messy and often prone to destruction of personal property, in his experience. He didn’t know the first thing about handling them, or otherwise interacting with them beyond acknowledging their existence, and he did not _want_ to know. He had thought by now there was an understanding in place: he would tolerate Kuroko looking after Aomine’s daughter once a week, and allow Aomine to parade her through the common living area of his shared apartment whenever he so chose, provided she was kept a healthy distance away from him.                    
> 
>  
> 
> So much for that assumption.
> 
>  
> 
> He wasn’t even sure how he had wound up standing in this garage, holding onto this wriggling, slobbering by-product of his former teammate’s genes, in the first place. Perhaps some unlikely combination of the downright _civil_ manner that Aomine had asked over the phone, and the resulting incessant prodding of both Kise and Kuroko, urging him to do his part and lend a hand, just this once. Shintarou didn’t quite understand the logic behind that. To his mind, there wasn’t a single aspect of the situation Aomine had landed himself in that _he_ should be held responsible for, and even if there _were_...for goodness’ sake, not even Kuroko made house calls.
> 
>  
> 
> He glanced at the inert, heavily dented black car resting on its jack beside him, and admitted that Aomine may have had an actual, viable reason for not bringing his daughter over _this_ time, but it was still a highly unreasonable demand for him to make, all the same.
> 
>  
> 
> A tiny hand on his face incited him to jolt in surprise, and he turned his attention reluctantly to look at his current charge. Yui had been silent all this time, wearing an expression that he could only adequately describe as a frown, her cheeks puffed out in displeasure, but her face lit up as soon as she regained eye contact with him, and she burst into rapturous giggles, reaching immediately for his glasses again. Craning his neck back in order to evade her, he tried to push her hand down with his much larger one, and her stubby fingers clasped around the base of his thumb instead, her intent, round eyes never straying from his own.
> 
>  
> 
> Shintarou blinked in surprise.
> 
>  
> 
> She didn’t seem to harbor any strong opinion of him -- or, indeed, any notable insight or intelligence that he could see -- but there was some sort of strange gravity to her stare, just the same. Something about her alert curiosity and apparent desire to _understand_ that for the first time made him consider, perhaps, making an effort to understand her as well.
> 
>  
> 
> “Alright,” Aomine interjected from the doorway, walking right past where Shintarou was...possibly about to have a _moment_ with his daughter, to stand in front of his decrepit car once again. He was clutching a daunting array of mechanical tools, including a wrench, pliers, and several long, metal rods in one hand, and a wad of clean white cloth in the other. “Gimme fifteen minutes, tops. If I can’t sort it by then, I’m taking the goddamn train.”
> 
>  
> 
> Shintarou didn’t say anything, and merely side-stepped out of his way, inclining his head assent to show he understood. He watched Aomine pop the hood and proceed to survey the engine underneath, with the same kind of single-minded focus he had seen so many times before, on the basketball court.
> 
>  
> 
> “Can’t believe I have to resort to the fucking dipstick,” Aomine grumbled absently, and Shintarou snapped to attention at that, his mouth falling open of its own accord.
> 
>  
> 
> “I-I _beg your pardon?”_ he squawked indignantly, scandalized.
> 
>  
> 
> Aomine blinked at him over his shoulder, one of his tapered metal tools already poised in his grip, looking nonplussed for an instant.
> 
>  
> 
> And then he burst out laughing.
> 
>  
> 
> It was, of course, much rougher and deeper than his infant daughter’s high-pitched, gurgling giggles, but Shintarou could have sworn there was still some odd similarity there; in the breathless gulps between bouts, perhaps, or the way his eyes crinkled almost shut but still remained locked, unwavering, on Shintarou’s own. Shintarou continued to stare at him, open-mouthed and oscillating between confusion, and anger that was mainly a product of said confusion, as he waited for an explanation.
> 
>  
> 
> “No, oh God, okay --” Aomine gasped, once he’d recovered from his moment of hilarity, brandishing the rod in his hand at Shintarou like a sword, “ _This._ Is a dipstick, it’s literally called...shit, I didn’t think _you_ of all people…”
> 
>  
> 
> Shintarou felt his face start to heat up.
> 
>  
> 
> “I… Well. How was I supposed to know that?” he sniffed, pushing his glasses up his nose haughtily with his free hand, “If your usual manner of speech weren’t so uncouth to begin with, I might not have assumed --”
> 
>  
> 
> “Yeah, yeah, I really don’t need the lecture right now,” Aomine waved him off, rolling his eyes. Then he paused, in the process of inserting the dipstick into one of the engine’s reservoirs, and looked at Shintarou again. “Hey...thanks, by the way.”
> 
>  
> 
> Shintarou looked up, taken aback, “What?”
> 
>  
> 
> Immediately, Aomine smirked, all sincerity gone, and raised his voice deliberately, “I said _thanks!_ Get some hearing aids, old man.”
> 
>  
> 
> Shintarou scowled, “I’m literally a month older than you.”
> 
>  
> 
> “Yeah, and you literally look it,” Aomine shot back, seeming delighted that Shintarou would rise to his absolutely _childish_ bait. Shintarou drew up to his full height, pulling Yui closer to his chest.
> 
>  
> 
> “Well if you’re so young and immature, maybe you should have your parenting license revoked,” he retorted facetiously.
> 
>  
> 
> A pause. Aomine stilled, but his daughter did not, squirming in Shintarou’s grasp and babbling something that was mostly consonants.
> 
>  
> 
> “Since when do you need a license?” Aomine asked finally, dragging his metal rod through the cloth in his other hand without breaking eye contact. He had responded to the usual banter readily enough, but all of a sudden his voice had turned cold, and he was no longer smiling. It occurred to Shintarou that he may have reached for a touchy subject; one that had honestly been hovering on the tip of his tongue for the better part of six months, whenever he saw Aomine.  
> 
>  
> 
> They had never discussed it. Never been in the same room long enough to acknowledge the enormous, diaper-clad elephant in it. Not even Kuroko was willing to bridge that gap. And while having Aomine’s illegitimate child thrust into his arms didn't _necessarily_ make it any more of Shintarou’s business, at some point it was human nature to speculate.
> 
>  
> 
> “You --” he began.
> 
>  
> 
> “Whatever you’re gonna say,” Aomine interrupted warningly, “I’ve probably heard it a million times by now.”
> 
>  
> 
> Shintarou’s lips thinned into a frown, and for a moment he said nothing. Aomine reached for one of his tools and turned around before continuing.  
> 
>  
> 
> “So either tell me something I don't know or shut the hell up, alright?”
> 
>  
> 
> Normally, Shintarou would be appalled by that, and might shoot back with something like “ _I could stand here all night listing things you_ **_don’t_ ** _know,”_ but Aomine’s tone was tired now, no longer fishing for a reaction, and he sensed that continuing the conversation would require...a more delicate approach than that. The warning was clear; if he jumped down Aomine’s throat with all his questions and accusations now, he would be shut down, and depending on where he chose to strike, he might not be forgiven for a lack of tact either.
> 
>  
> 
> In the end, he decided to opt for the latter option, falling silent and ruminating over what might be safe for him to say. He didn’t have a very clear frame of reference here, and Aomine’s actions had always been rather difficult for him to predict. Now in particular; he honestly hadn’t expected his unserious remark to trigger such a strong, defensive response from him. He had gathered from Kuroko and Kise and even Momoi that Aomine as a parent was a very different creature from the Aomine they all knew from school, but that may very well have been the first concrete proof he’d seen of that.
> 
>  
> 
> For awhile, he just watched Aomine work, allowing Yui to continue mutilating his lucky item while her father dug around beneath the hood of the car, until his shirt became stained with grease and oil and chalky, white dust, and his face and neck were glistening with exerted sweat. Yui was nodding off, and Shintarou’s feet were starting to ache from standing for such an extended time, so he picked a spot in the garage that was free of clutter and debris and sat down gingerly against the wall, settling the infant in his lap while she put two fingers in her mouth, content to cozy up to his chest.
> 
>  
> 
> Aomine’s fifteen-minute deadline came and went. Then thirty minutes. Then an hour. And finally, Shintarou found himself being shaken none-too-gently awake by a large, sweaty hand on his shoulder, having drifted into a doze right where he was sitting. He blinked, and Aomine’s blurry, frowning face jumped into view. He was squatting in front of him, holding his glasses in the hand he wasn’t bracing against his shoulder.
> 
>  
> 
> “Don’t poke your fucking eye out, stupid,” Aomine said simply, handing his glasses back before standing up straight and stretching his spine, twisting from side to side.
> 
>  
> 
> “What time is it?” Shintarou asked, replacing his glasses on his nose and finding that he was still holding Yui, now fast asleep in his lap.
> 
>  
> 
> “Time for you...to get a watch,” Aomine grunted, lifting his arms over his head and flexing them outward, “And go home so you can get some beauty sleep, or...whatever the hell you’re going for, I really can’t tell.”
> 
>  
> 
> Shintarou hung his head and sighed deeply against his own chest, reluctantly acknowledging this as a return to the norm. He started to shift so that he could adjust the slumbering baby in his arms and get to his feet, but Aomine was there in a flash, stooping down to hoist his daughter out of Shintarou’s lap, and fit her securely against his own shoulder.
> 
>  
> 
> “Were you able to resolve the problem?” Shintarou asked as he stood, regaining his height advantage.
> 
>  
> 
> “Yeah, I guess,” Aomine shrugged, the shadows under his eyes and the sweat standing on his brow putting paid to the indifferent act. It was obvious from his exhaustion and the jet black backdrop of the sky outside that it had been a struggle. A long one. “It’ll do for now. Thanks...again.”
> 
>  
> 
> He must have _really_ been wiped out, to not even put up an attempt to tease this time. Shintarou supposed he ought to respond in kind, then.
> 
>  
> 
> “You’re welcome,” he said, “Have a good night, Aomine.”
> 
>  
> 
> Perhaps the others had been right after all, he thought as he prepared to leave; perhaps Aomine really had changed radically since becoming a father.
> 
>  
> 
> “Yeah, loads better now that you’ll be out of my hair,” Aomine scoffed, hitching his daughter up a little higher against his shoulder. Shintarou made sure he turned away from him fully, before he allowed a very, very small smile to touch his lips.
> 
>  
> 
> Then again, perhaps not.
> 
>  

.

 

.

 

By the time he gets Yui fed and dressed and out the door, with Kagami in tow and still trying to be entirely too helpful, Daiki has started to realize that not only is he in deep shit, he’s well and truly _fucked._

 

So it turns out, Kagami can cook like a wizard, magically transforming Daiki’s bag of instant sawdust, discount peanut spread and overripe bananas into a legit pot of porridge that was...easily a contender for the best breakfast he’s had all year. Also, Yui seems to adore him, chattering on and off about “ _uncle Taiga”_ (again, what the hell _)_ in the same tone that she talks about stickers while Daiki manhandled her into her overalls. And, on top of that, while they all bolted down the glorious concoction of sweet and savory that Kagami somehow produced from Daiki’s stove, Daiki couldn’t seem to get the mental image of slowly swinging hips and half-lidded eyes, and lips shaping soundlessly around memorized English lyrics, out of his fucking _head_.

 

So it turns out, Kagami’s a catch. His life might as well be over now.

 

It’s not a long drive to daycare, but while he and Kagami don’t say much, and haven’t since breakfast, Yui talks the entire time, making up stories with the stuffed animals Daiki put in her lap, and occasionally singing something to herself that sounds _just_ similar enough phonetically to whatever Kagami was playing earlier to make Daiki -- in a passing moment of insanity -- actually consider asking him what it was called. Probably not such a good idea, if he wants to sleep again sometime this century.

 

Kagami finally makes eye contact with him when he pulls up at the daycare, wearing a question on his face as he turns in his seat.

 

“Should I just stay here, or…?” he trails off, but the implication is obvious.

 

“Sure,” Daiki says, and almost adds _‘for fuck’s sake, you’ve done enough,’_ before thinking better of it.

 

To make matters worse, after he helps Yui out of her carseat, he almost, _almost_ lets slip something along the lines of ‘ _say bye to Uncle Taiga, okay?’_ before thinking better of _that_ too. Old habits die hard, he thinks, and wonders for a second if Yui might say it on her own anyway, even without the reminder. She doesn’t, but probably only because she’s distracted by her animals at the moment, trying to fit them all under one arm so Daiki can take her other hand.  

 

“One second,” he says, unnecessarily, rather than leave Kagami hanging, and then shuts the car door with his free hand, linking his fingers more securely around Yui’s so he can lead her up the walkway.

 

Daycare is bustling, as it often is in the morning, with swarms of kids sprinting with safety scissors and glitter glue and harried parents trying to shove their belongings into cubbies so they can get to work, often amid clingy and sometimes tearful protests on the parts of their children. Some days Yui tries playing that card too, but most of the time she’s too excited to get away and find her little circle of friends to even let Daiki take off her shoes first. Such is the case today. She rockets away the second he untangles her from her jacket, arms overflowing with stuffed animals that she can’t wait to share and/or show off to the others. He sighs softly and takes the opportunity to hang up her things, waiting for the moment she realizes.

 

“Wait, Hitoka, I forgot!” she yells over the usual din, easily one of the most vocal toddlers in the room, and then she hurries back, considerably unburdened by animals now that she’s passed some off to her shy little blonde friend.

 

“What did you forget?” Daiki asks upon her return, stooping down to her level with a knowing grin.

 

As an answer, she stands on her toes to quickly throw her stubby arms around his neck, “Bye, Daddy!”

 

“Bye, sweetheart,” Daiki murmurs into her hair, squeezing her back once before standing up straight, “See you tonight.”

 

“‘Kay!” she agrees, loudly, and promptly scrambles back into the fray with her velcro shoes still on.

 

Slipping his hands in his pockets, Daiki watches her go, and then turns his head to check the analog clock on the wall behind him. He’s cutting it close now, and he still has to drop off Kagami before he can even head to work. At this point, it’s just a matter of _how_ late he’s going to be.

 

Kagami is right where he left him, leaning one elbow on the passenger side windowsill and resting his cheek against his fist. He doesn’t say anything, and only raises his head slightly as Daiki gets back in the car and slings his seatbelt across his chest. He twists the key in the ignition, clicking his tongue impatiently as he listens to the motor struggle to turn over. He imagines he can feel Kagami’s eyes on him, watching, thoughtful.

 

Then the car shudders to life, and finally they’re on their way. With Kagami’s address already plugged into Maps, he just has to pull out onto the main road and allow himself to be guided this time.

 

For the first few blocks, neither of them say a word, but Daiki is still extremely conscious of the space that remains between them, the awkwardness of it, the occasional tiny movements of the figure beside him responding to bumps in the road.

 

“So you’re a dad, huh?” Kagami prompts at last, popping the bubble of silence but doing nothing to ease the tension. Daiki’s eyes cut to him briefly. He’d expected the question, but not right at this moment.

 

“Oh, now we’re going to talk about it?”

 

An almost silent sound, rather like a laugh, expels from Kagami’s chest.

 

“Yeah, sorry...I didn’t get a chance to ask you before, and last night you were kind of…”

 

Daiki hunches his shoulders against the reminder, and the implied embarrassment, “Right...well, I'm all ears now,” he says, going for sarcasm in the face of uncertainty, “Ask me what?”

 

For a few seconds, Kagami doesn’t reply, and he wonders fleetingly if that might have come across as too harsh. That worry proves to be unfounded, though, when Kagami does open his mouth.

 

“Can I ask...why?”

 

Daiki scowls down at his turn signal as he flicks it on. Like he hasn’t heard _that_ one before.

 

“Why what?” he retorts, and even he can hear the underlying sneer in his own voice, “‘ _Why am I doing this?’_ ” When Kagami doesn’t respond immediately, he presses on, “Why didn’t I just ditch my best friend in high school after I found out I knocked her up? Do I really look like that much of an asshole to you?” A beat, then, “Don’t answer that.”

 

“No,” Kagami says, neutral, when he could probably be forgiven for snapping back just this once, “That’s not what I meant, it’s just...you were only _seventeen..._ you couldn’t have known what you were signing up for, so…?”

 

“It’s really not that complicated,” Daiki sighs, not bothering to ask where Kagami got the specifics. Tetsu or Kise exacting their revenge on him, no doubt. “And if it wasn’t Satsuki, hell, maybe I wouldn’t’ve.”

 

He lets that thought flutter briefly, almost amusing in its hypothetical absurdity, across his mind. If it had been someone else, literally _anyone_ else...would he have done anything different? Thoughts like that have become increasingly uncommon for him over time, and they’re just as pointless and irrelevant now as ever before, so he only ends up waving them away.

 

“She’s…” he hesitates, tripping over the words for an instant. _She’s too goddamn smart for this..._ “She’s going places now, and she totally deserves it. I thought, then, that she probably could have a really great future, if she didn’t  --”

 

“So could you,” Kagami interrupts, and Daiki blinks, more at the matter-of-fact tone than the statement itself.

 

“What?”

 

“I saw the letters,” Kagami says, by way of elaborating, “Nippon, Chuo, fucking _Meiji?_ You could’ve gone anywhere...but you gave it all up for her.”

 

Daiki shrugs, with his hands still cradled around the steering wheel, hell-bent on avoiding his gaze, “I guess so. So what?”

 

“Do you ever...regret it? Anything?”

 

Daiki finally shoots a glance at his dead serious face, and then turns back around as he laughs it off, short and derisive, “I don’t know who the hell you think I am, Kagami, but I really ain’t got that kind of time.”

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Let Me - ZAYN](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E-KjnVAnSQ8)  
>   
>  (If Aomine had asked what that song was called, he really never would have slept again.)  
>   
> You guys, I finally got this chapter done and it turned out LONG! I'm really sorry it took so long, but I kind of just found out my long-standing problems with my wrist might actually be a result of a bigger issue with my spine, so I've been trying to sort that out. I'm so glad it is done, though, because there are some things I meant to put in waaaaay earlier in this fic that we can finally get into now! I'm so excited you guys you have no idea. Holy shit.  
>   
> Comments honestly give me life, and make my day, feed the author!


	7. Chapter 7

“You’re late, kid,” a drawling voice greets Daiki after he slams his car door. He points the fob at it behind his back until he hears it lock as he jogs up to the main gate.

 

“Not yet,” he protests, falling in step beside the foreman and pulling his phone out of his pocket, “Still got two minutes.”

 

“And it’ll take at least one to get in your gear,” Riko says, pursing her lips in disapproval, “Better hustle.”

 

Daiki flashes her a teasing smirk, walking backwards in order to keep her in sight, “Hey, it’s me, remember? I’m always hustling.”

 

She rolls her eyes at him, “Yeah, yeah. Just punch in before I punch you.” Then she raises her voice abruptly, as he starts through the gate, “Hey!”

 

He stops, and she gestures at the top of her head sternly, “Helmet, dumbass!”

 

“I’m not even --”

 

“If a chunk of falling metal doesn’t kill you, Papa will if he catches you on grounds without one!” she interrupts, unamused, propping her hands on her hips.

 

“Fine,” Daiki sighs, slinging a white hard hat over his head, “Happy?”

 

“Hustle!” Riko reminds him sharply, and he shakes his head and breaks into a demonstrative run.

 

By the time he gets in his reflective vest and steel toes and makes it back to the time clock, he’s exactly a minute late. He shrugs and grabs his card. It’s not a write-up, and that’s all that matters.

 

Kagetora-san seems to have other ideas.

 

“I see you made it by the skin of your teeth again,” he says casually, as he sidles up to Daiki mid-disassembly.

    

“Traffic was bad,” Daiki mutters, as he wedges the crowbar in his hand under the mangled hood of a dilapidated minivan. It’s funny, he finds himself thinking more and more frequently, that in one job he’s fixing cars, and in another he’s taking them apart.

 

“We’re in Tokyo, kid, traffic’s not a viable excuse,” Kagetora-san smirks, coming up alongside him and rubbing at his own stubbly cheek.

 

“Fine, I missed my alarm,” Daiki grunts, prying the hood free and propping it open to get to the engine inside. He doesn’t say that he only missed his alarm because he forgot to set one, or that he forgot to set one because of his impromptu drunken exploits last night. Kagetora-san may have been forgiving of a lot of things, but he probably wouldn’t look too kindly on that.

 

Kagetora-san tsks, but it’s gentle, “Not such a blessing that the built-in alarm sleeps in now, is it?”     

 

Daiki doesn’t respond beyond a shrug; somehow Kagetora-san always finds a way to turn the subject back around to Yui, but he doesn’t cut Daiki very much slack when it comes to her, even though he’s more or less been in his shoes once before. _Or so he says…_

 

Maybe having been a single father himself, he thinks he gets to set the bar, but Daiki doesn’t think the situations are the same. His ex is still in the picture, for one thing, and they didn’t split up officially until Riko was five. And now Riko’s older than Daiki, so it’s even more of a moot point.

 

“How’s Kacchan treating you at the body shop?” Kagetora-san asks, taking a pace away from him and pulling out his clipboard. Daiki shrugs again, and pulls up his dust mask.

 

“Well he hasn’t sent me home crying yet,” he says, his voice slightly muffled now as he wrenches a piece of corroded engine free. A cloud of white dust explodes in his face.

 

Kagetora-san laughs, and claps him on the back as he passes by, “Good. Then he’s probably done hazing you for now. Tell him I said hi, won’t you?”

 

“I always do, and he always says to tell you to go to hell.”

 

“Ha! Classic Kacchan!” Still chuckling to himself, he saunters away, clipboard in hand, before raising his voice airily, “Riko-tannn! Are we out of surface-discharge plugs?”

 

Rolling his eyes, Daiki dives under the hood and gets back to work. Breaking down cars is a slow, shitty process, and by the time he has all the high-value metals sorted -- though with a beat-up piece of junk like this, that’s a pretty loose term -- his shoulders are burning and there’s a hell of a knot in his lower back.

 

Once his shift is over, he hardly notices the individual aches anymore under the larger feeling of general fatigue. After two years, though, he’s more or less gotten used to it, and figures he’ll take the intensive physical labor over the kind of mindless job where he’d have to sit behind a desk any day. If anything, it’s a workout, and that can only improve his basketball.  

 

“You’re still driving that thing?” Kagetora-san calls out as he heads back toward his car. He sniffs and crosses his arms as he approaches, “No wonder you’re always late.”

 

“I have to make a lot of stops,” Daiki says defensively, fumbling for his keys.

 

“Well, the offer always stands, whenever you’re ready to put it out of its misery.”

 

Daiki smirks ruefully, “No takebacks.”

 

“Not a takeback, I’ll pay you for it,” Kagetora-san snickers, “Exactly what I sold it for.”

 

“Tch. It’s in _better_ condition now than when you sold it to me,” Daiki argues, not without some degree of smugness.

 

“Oh ho! Look who’s an up-and-coming shadetree all of a sudden,” Kagetora-san says, grinning as he fishes in the pocket of his jacket, “Here, for your apprentice.”

 

He tosses a small blue car with the scrapyard’s logo at Daiki, who catches it one-handed. It squishes in his grip; some kind of foam. He snorts.

 

“You know she plays with these more than the hundreds of thousands of _actual_ toys I get her,” he grumbles, but stows it in his own pocket anyway. Yui will be over the moon.

 

For once, the car starts up without a struggle, but as he prepares to leave work, Daiki is made aware of another problem. The unforeseen detour he took to drop off Kagami took a toll on his tank; he’s almost completely out of gas. _It’s always something…_

 

The thought of Kagami, however fleeting, takes him back to their conversation in the car this morning. How Kagami had tactfully waited until they were alone, in a private, confined space, to ask what he’d wanted to know. Daiki wonders what kinds of assumptions he’d been making about him before then, once he knew about Yui, though obviously he’d gained at least some kind of insight when he picked her up from Tetsu’s.

 

And that brings him to something else he’d said, which had explained the familiar way he’d talked about Tetsu when he came up in conversation before.

 

‘ _We were in school together, actually.’_

 

Something about that doesn’t add up, and after pulling up at the gas station, Daiki wrestles his phone out of his pocket and unlocks it, opening his messages to ask what he’s been burning to all day.

 

**To Tetsu**

**6:15 pm**

 

_Hey_

_Why didn’t you tell me you already knew Kagami?_

 

As he’s leaning against the side of the car, squeezing the handle of the pump with one hand, he feels a response vibrate against the other, and lifts his phone again.

 

**From Tetsu**

**6:21 pm**

 

_I make a point of keeping my personal and business lives separate, Aomine-kun._

 

He can’t help smirking to himself grimly. _Sneaky bastard.._. He returns the pump and screws on the gas cap while typing a reply one-handed.

 

**To Tetsu**

**6:23 pm**

 

_Dare I ask which is which?_

 

The needle on the fuel gauge barely moves up two centimeters when he convinces the engine to start again, and he sighs. His mileage isn’t exactly stellar, but it should last him the rest of the week. Hopefully. As long as he doesn’t take any more detours.

 

**From Tetsu**

**6:24 pm**

 

_I would not._

 

The chaos that rules the daycare in the morning tends to slow way down by the time Daiki returns to it at night. Sometimes when he gets back, it’s dark out and he sees Yui before he even steps inside, standing on tiptoe in the little yellow window and pressing her nose to the glass, waiting for him.

 

Other times, like now, she doesn’t even notice him come in, and he’s able to take a moment to himself next to the cubbies, to stretch out some of the stiffness from work and maybe catch a glimpse of her playing with the other remaining kids, completely engrossed. He’s never seen her happier than when she’s bossing them around, and it kind of makes him wish he was better at the whole parental networking thing, so he could set up playdates or something.

 

Most of the parents here, though, have already formed their own circles, and he has a hard time finding a common point of interest to open conversation, or the motivation to even try, since the majority are a good deal older than him, and he’s one of the only guys who comes in unaccompanied by a wife. Yui’s much better at making friends than he is, and that’s the only reason any of them even talk to him, he figures.

 

“Long time no see, Aomine-kun.” Speak of the devil -- no, really -- the cool voice from right next to him precedes the appearance of the mother of Yui’s best friend Hitoka. As always, her lipstick is on point, her hair is carefully pleated to one side, and her heels are daunting, though she still doesn’t come close to approaching Daiki’s height. He doesn’t know much about Yachi Madoka except that she apparently runs her own web design company, and that she’s a truly terrifying woman.

 

“Yeah, I guess I’ve been sort of in and out lately,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets and averting his gaze, “Busy, you know?”

 

“I’d imagine so,” she says, though not unkindly, “And I’m sure a young lady as...spirited as Yui would also keep you on your toes.”

 

Daiki smirks, “Can’t say she hasn’t got opinions. She’s a good kid, though.”

 

“She is,” Yachi-san agrees, “She’s all Hitoka will talk about, some days, I think she looks up to her.”

 

Daiki hums a sound that probably passes for affirmative. He doesn’t think Yachi-san approached him tonight to discuss child psychology with him, but at the same time, he can’t put his finger on why she did.  

 

“It’s good for her,” Yachi-san continues, “To be around someone so confident and assertive, it’s getting her out of her shell some. I want to thank you.”

 

Daiki blinks, startled, “What? Why?”

 

“For being such a good influence on Yui,” she says, matter-of-factly, “Even though it must be difficult at times, in your position…”

 

She trails off, and it might be because Daiki is still gaping at her in disbelief. He doesn’t think anyone has ever called him a good influence -- or really, much of a good _anything,_ except maybe a basketball player -- especially not to his face.

 

“Is that surprising?” Yachi-san asks, looking a little surprised herself, “It’s...obvious how much you care about her, how much of your time goes into providing for her, and really, at your age...it’s commendable.”

 

“I...uh...yeah,” Daiki stammers, in lieu of a ‘ _thanks’_ , and doesn’t get much further than that, because it seems like Yui has finally spotted him and is racing over with a sheet of bright pink construction paper waving from her hand, a more timid Hitoka trailing in her footsteps.

 

“Daddy!” Yui yells, practically launching herself at him so she can show him what she’s holding, “Look!”

 

The sheet is about as long as Yui is tall, and it’s violently pink with scribbles of clashing primary colors and probably half a container of blue glitter, barely held to its surface with swirls of glue that haven’t yet dried. Daiki knows with absolute certainty that it’s going to end up all over him, one way or another, tonight. Yui’s hands are already a mess of sparkles as it is, and he laughs softly at her attempting to separate her sticky fingers.

 

“This is awesome,” he says, taking the paper from her, which, as he predicted, immediately discharges a load of glitter onto the front of his jacket, “What is it?”

 

“It’s Tetsu-chan, and Ki-chan,” Yui says, pointing to a blue and yellow scrawl of crayon, and then a red one, “And Uncle Taiga, and you!”

 

Apparently, Daiki is being represented by the masses of blue glitter. He’s surprisingly okay with that. And apparently she added a scribble for Kagami, even after only meeting him once.

 

“I don’t know if our fridge is big enough for this,” he tells her gravely, but he can’t stop grinning, “We may have to take some things down...”

 

“No!” Yui protests, loudly, balling her glittery hands into fists.

 

“I’m just kidding,” Daiki says, ruffling her hair, and somehow finding even more glitter. It’s going to be appearing in his apartment for months to come, even if he bathes Yui as soon as he gets her home, he thinks. Her car seat is done for. “Ready to go?”

 

She nods, and in the background, Daiki registers Yachi-san pausing in her conversation with her own daughter to clear her throat meaningfully. He glances at her over his shoulder.

 

“Actually, Yui, aren’t you forgetting some animals?” he prompts, both as a distraction and to save himself the task of rounding them all up, as Yui gasps and rushes to do just that.

 

He turns back to Yachi-san, who is carefully rolling up the sheet of lilac paper Hitoka handed to her, like it’s a professionally designed poster.

 

“I just wanted to say,” she begins, keeping her eyes focused on her task while Hitoka tugs anxiously at the hem of her skirt, “I...understand you’re more or less on your own in this, and I wanted to let you know...if...you or Yui ever need anything…”

 

Daiki starts to wave her off with his free hand quickly when he realizes where this is going, “I'm fine. I mean, I uh...think I’m good. We’re good, right now...anyway...”

 

Something is still squirming uncomfortably in his gut as she straightens, and she seems to be having just as difficult a time articulating as he is. Daiki can’t decide if the slashes of red staining her cheeks make her come across as more or less terrifying.

 

“Right,” she says, tucking the neatly rolled construction paper under her arm, “I don’t mean to keep you, I just thought...”

 

“Okay,” Daiki says, somewhat robotically, “Yeah, I’ll...keep it in mind.”

 

Thankfully, he’s saved from having to say anything else by Yui returning with her arms full of stuffed animals.

 

It’s not that he doesn’t see the reason for the gesture itself, though he can say for certain that he’s never going to take her up on it, he just doesn’t know how he’s supposed to handle...that. And it’s been that way from the beginning; the more people that interfere with him and the system he’s built, the worse he feels about it. He already has his doubts about letting Kagami butt his vibrant red head in, especially after this morning’s events.

 

He puts up a valiant effort, he thinks, to keep the inevitable cascade of glitter contained to Yui and her car seat, but as soon as he starts to lean down and buckle her in, he gives it up for lost, as it ends up on the other seats and the floor and the slats around the door frame almost instantaneously. Yui thinks it’s high comedy. Daiki thinks he’s going to need one of those cordless vacuum cleaners.

 

After getting behind the wheel, he pulls out his phone to check the time, and in the process, the toy car Kagetora-san gave him rolls out of his pocket and ends up wedged between the seat and the center console. He glances at it, and decides to hold off on giving it to Yui until she’s a little less sticky.

 

Unlocking his phone screen reveals the last dying breath of his battery, and a notification he apparently missed somewhere between getting gas and arriving at daycare, earlier tonight.    

 

**From Tetsu**

**6:35 pm**

 

_I suppose I’m not entirely impartial, though. How do you think Kagami-kun knew about you before you officially met?_

 

He stares at the message box for a good few seconds, having no fucking clue what to make of that. Kagami had cited Daiki’s reputation and renown on the street court when he met him, and Daiki had accepted that answer readily enough, because of _course,_ but Tetsu seemed to be implying…

 

**To Tetsu**

**6:51 pm**

 

_Were you trying to set us up?_

 

Tetsu doesn’t reply, not as immediately as Daiki needs an answer, and finally his phone just gives up the ghost, turning dark and useless in his hand. He sighs and redirects his attention to trying to start the car.

 

It takes a couple of minutes.

 

.

 

.

 

 

> She found Dai-chan at the living room table, where he’d obviously been for some time, sitting in front of the sofa that was currently draped with his clothes and borrowed sheets, his other belongings scattered in the general vicinity where he’d neglected to pick them up.
> 
>  
> 
> If he were anyone else, for any other reason, Satsuki might have suggested that he was overstaying his welcome.
> 
>  
> 
> His forehead was creased with frustration, or concentration, or both, his tongue peeking out between his teeth while he scratched a pen haltingly over the paper in front of him. When he’d gone to the guidance counselors last month to announce his withdrawal from school, he hadn’t listened to any protests or questions or plans for alternative education, hadn’t started any arguments or offered any explanation. He’d just asked for the paperwork.
> 
>  
> 
> And they had certainly taken their sweet time before handing it over. Satsuki wondered if they’d tried to contact his parents.
> 
>  
> 
> “I have something for you,” she said, dropping the envelope in her hand onto the table. Its ragged edge indicated that it had already been slit open and badly closed. “You should probably change your forwarding address if you’re gonna stay here, you know.”
> 
>  
> 
> “What’s the point?” Dai-chan said, without looking up, “I’m just gonna have to change it again when I move out.”
> 
>  
> 
> Satsuki didn’t think such specious logic was really worth taking apart. Not right now. Nor was it worth pointing out that he hadn’t even started _looking_ , much less packing to move out of her parents’ place.
> 
>  
> 
> She sighed, “You aren’t going to open it?”
> 
>  
> 
> Dai-chan glanced at the envelope, but his bored expression didn’t change, “Looks like someone already did.”
> 
>  
> 
> “Aun…well...your mom…” Satsuki began, biting her lip, “Has been trying to call you for a few days.”
> 
>  
> 
> “...Oh,” Dai-chan said, at length, before returning his attention to the forms in front of him.
> 
>  
> 
> “You didn’t know?” Satsuki blinked.
> 
>  
> 
> “I blocked her cell.”
> 
>  
> 
> Satsuki looked to the ceiling for patience, and didn’t find any. _Of course he did._
> 
>  
> 
> “She...wants you to come home…”
> 
>  
> 
> “She said that?” Dai-chan grunted, sounding unconvinced.
> 
>  
> 
> “She called _me_ ,” Satsuki amended, “And she sounded like...she said you got a letter.”
> 
>  
> 
> Dai-chan’s downcast gaze turned to the envelope on the table again, and he hunched his shoulders indifferently.
> 
>  
> 
> “So what?”
> 
>  
> 
> “Would you just open it?”
> 
>  
> 
> Dai-chan snorted irritably, but did as she asked, fishing the letter out of the abused envelope and spreading it out with short, jerky motions. His eyes skimmed the first few lines, but he obviously didn’t take enough time to read the whole thing.
> 
>  
> 
> “This doesn’t look like an invitation home to me,” he said, folding it up again without a second glance.
> 
>  
> 
> “Do you even --?” Satsuki began, dumbfounded, “Dai-chan, listen, I don’t think _I_ could get into Meiji, it’s almost impossible to get in on the first try, and they just _scouted_ you! That’s huge -- !”
> 
>  
> 
> “It doesn’t matter.”
> 
>  
> 
> “It’s _basketball,”_ Satsuki retorted incredulously, crossing her arms as much as she was able around the vast obstruction of her belly, “It’s your future and it’s _basketball_ , what could be more important than that?”
> 
>  
> 
> Dai-chan didn’t say anything, but his eyes did cut to her face for a moment, unyielding.
> 
>  
> 
> “All they want is a diploma,” Satsuki pleaded, already knowing it was no use, “You just have to graduate and pass the entrance exam, and then you’re basically in, it’s not too late --”
> 
>  
> 
> “It’s way too late,” Dai-chan laughed, short and dry, and started to look away again.
> 
>  
> 
> “Dai-chan --” Satsuki interjected, taking a deep breath when he stopped and looked at her. “Please...it’s not that I don’t understand...what you’re trying to do, or even that I disagree. It’s a nice grand gesture and all, but --”   
> 
>  
> 
> “Stop,” Dai-chan sighed.
> 
>  
> 
> “You’ve made your point!” Satsuki said, louder now, nearing hysteria or tears, because what she was saying was _right_ and _sensible_ so why, why _why_ when she looked into Dai-chan’s stubborn, _stupid_ face did she still feel like she was in the wrong? “You’ve gone above and beyond what I expected, and -- proved me wrong, but this...this is real life. This is your chance for a real future, you can’t _\--_!”
> 
>  
> 
> “I’m not trying to make a point,” Dai-chan said, actually looking offended by that, “I’m just...trying to do the right thing.”
> 
>  
> 
> “Oh good _grief_ , don’t make it so black and white,” Satsuki groaned, scrubbing her hands over her face, “You don't have to...look, I talked to Mom yesterday, she said there’s an adoption agency right across town, I --”
> 
>  
> 
> All at once, Dai-chan stood up. Suddenly he towered over her. Suddenly he was staring down at her like he was present and she was in his way. She almost took an involuntary step back.
> 
>  
> 
> “Don’t even fucking go there,” Dai-chan spat, “It’s _my_ baby too, you can’t just decide that all on your own!”
> 
>  
> 
> “But --”
> 
>  
> 
> “I told you, I'm doing this, so don't try to talk me out of it now.”
> 
>  
> 
> “But why?” Satsuki demanded, “Why do you have to do this? What reason could justify giving up _everything --?”_
> 
>  
> 
> “Because I screwed up, okay?” Dai-chan practically shouted. Satsuki didn’t flinch, but it was a near thing, and she held her ground, shifting and clutching at the front of her skirt.
> 
>  
> 
> “That’s it?” she snapped, twisting the fabric in her hands, “You screwed up, and this is what, your way of punishing yourself or something?”
> 
>  
> 
> “Fuck no!” Dai-chan shot back, breathing hard now, eyes darting, tension rising, “I just...I _have_ to see this through...”
> 
>  
> 
> “Have to?”
> 
>  
> 
> “Yeah, I have to!” Dai-chan exploded, ignoring her when she tried to respond, “I did this, I put us here, I put _that baby_ here, and now --!”
> 
>  
> 
> “Dai-chan,” Satsuki interrupted shakily, but he bulldozed right over her without listening.
> 
>  
> 
> “If I didn’t -- _fuck_ , if I quit now, if I bailed out for some fucking college I’d spend the rest of my fucking life thinking -- if I hadn’t --”  
> 
>  
> 
> “Dai-chan!” Satsuki insisted, but again, she couldn’t get a word in edgewise.
> 
>  
> 
> “I’d _hate_ myself! Is that what you want to hear?” Dai-chan burst out, clenching his hands into fists and his eyes tight shut, “I don’t care about anything else! Fuck school, fuck entrance exams, _fuck_ _basketball,_ I just -- !”
> 
>  
> 
> He broke off in order to gulp a noisy breath, and maybe realize what had just come out of his mouth, because his eyes when they opened were strange and wide with shock, but he didn’t try to take it back.
> 
>  
> 
> “Dai-chan…” Satsuki repeated, voice wobbling, gaze lowering.
> 
>  
> 
> “What?”
> 
>  
> 
> Sweeping her hand against the lower hem of her skirt, she looked up at him again as it came away wet.
> 
>  
> 
> “I think...my water just broke.”
> 
>  

.

 

.

 

After the moment of tension the last time they had spoken, and the kind of sudden, kind of unintentional introduction of Kagami into his personal life -- especially considering Tetsu’s possible involvement, which he kept being annoyingly cryptic about -- Daiki had thought it might be awkward to see him again. But when he spots a flash of red hair on the other side of the street court the following Friday night, he only feels a thrill of anticipation for the game, and Kagami’s grin when he recognizes him in the crowd shows nothing different.

 

“You gonna show me anything I haven’t already seen?” Daiki taunts as he makes his way across the court toward him, “Or am I gonna be bored tonight?”

 

“Have I bored you yet?” Kagami challenges, baring his teeth once they’re properly facing each other, “Don’t get too full of yourself, I’ve won some rounds against you.”

 

“Ha! Barely,” Daiki laughs, because he’s still got that same spark of determination in his eyes as the first time they fought; a flame that can’t be snuffed out, it seems. So much for his other concern, that Kagami had only been playing so seriously because he thought he had an incentive. “Still haven’t won the war, though.”

 

Kagami grins fiercely, locking eyes with him, but he’s interrupted before he can make a retort.

 

“If you two are quite finished playing footsie, the real game is about to start,” his friend Himuro says from the center line, a flicker of evident amusement in his voice.

 

“Who the hell’s playing _footsie_?” Kagami scowls, but he straightens, and the heat of his gaze dissipates as it’s redirected. He joins Himuro on one side of the line, and Daiki takes his place on the other, excitement thrumming through him as he catches the burning, thirsty look on Kagami’s face. Yeah, there’s no way he’s not taking this seriously.

 

For all his apparent ardent desire for victory, though, he still can’t seem to win against Daiki much. He plays as hard as Daiki has ever seen, for three whole rounds, but even with the added support of his friend and the rest of his teammates, he comes just shy of a win every time.

 

Daiki can remember seeing his frustration the last time he was thoroughly beaten, and it’s still there now, but at the same time, he looks completely enthralled...and can’t seem to help squaring off against Daiki every time he gets the ball, following him so closely that before long they’re breathing the same air, staring at each other through the sweat and adrenaline and matching each other step for skidding step.

 

The final whistle rings out before Daiki even knows it, after his last shot leaves his fingertips and plunges through the hoop like a hot knife through butter. This time, Kagami doesn’t curse or sigh or protest, and when Daiki glances back at him, he’s met with an unexpected flash of naked admiration in his red eyes. When he looks again, it’s gone, and Kagami is just talking idly with Himuro in between long gulps from his water bottle, but he’s sure he didn’t imagine it.

 

He finds himself lingering on the other side of the chain link fence, pretending to adjust the strap of his bag, even though it’s dark and the match is long over, until the majority of the players and gamblers trickle away. Himuro and Kagami are some of the last to go.

 

“Alright, I’ll catch you later, Tatsuya!” Kagami says, waving as he splits off from him and steps off the court.

 

“Don’t make me wait a whole week next time,” Himuro replies, turning his back, “And answer your damn phone! Good luck!”

 

Kagami laughs, and almost runs right into Daiki, where he’s standing by the fence. He doesn’t look at all surprised to see him there.

 

“Hey,” he says, tousling his hair and utterly failing to play it casual, “That was some game, huh?”

 

“What’re you so cheery for?” Daiki sneers jokingly, and no, he’s not staring, because Kagami doesn’t suddenly look irresistible with his hair all roughed up, “That’s like the tenth time I’ve wiped the floor with you.”

 

“ _Seventh_ time,” Kagami argues, and Daiki snickers, “And I’ll get you next week, just wait. I almost had it today.”

 

“Sure you did,” Daiki says, turning nonchalantly toward the parking lot. Kagami follows without being asked, “So what were you and the hubby chatting about?”

 

Kagami sputters something between a laugh and a disgruntled noise, “What, he’s not my fiancé anymore? When did we get married?”

 

“In the spring, I assume,” Daiki says, with a teasingly dreamy air, “Anyway, you gossipy hens had your heads together practically the whole game, and after.”

 

“It’s called strategizing, dumbass,” Kagami says, raising one of his weird eyebrows, “Maybe you’ve never heard of it.”

 

“Who needs that?” Daiki shrugs, wrinkling his nose disdainfully.   

 

Kagami blinks at him, and then bursts out laughing, throwing his head back so the line of his throat goes taut.

 

“...What?”

 

“Now I see where Yui gets that face from.”

 

Daiki frowns, “What face?”

 

“That face,” Kagami says, still grinning as he points at him, “Your face. It’s exactly the same.”

 

Daiki huffs, even as he consciously tries to arrange his expression into something less admittedly childish, “Nice to know you think I look exactly like a two year old girl,” he says, lifting his bag to swing it over his shoulder, “She takes more after her mom, though.”

 

“Bullshit, she looks just like you.”

 

Daiki stops, letting the strap hang loosely from his hand as he looks at him, because he sounds completely serious, and it’s surprising. He’s always looked at Yui and seen Satsuki, since the day she was born...he never considered how she might look like him, even to someone like Kagami.

 

“Yeah?” he says, and it comes out softer than he expected, almost fragile in his mouth as Kagami leans in, ever so slightly.

 

“Yeah,” Kagami murmurs, with eyes like magnets, fixated on Daiki’s own, “She’s beautiful, you know…”

 

Daiki forgets to breathe for a second, holding that steady gaze like he can’t let go.

 

“I know,” he rasps, heart pounding wildly in his chest as Kagami smirks and comes in even closer, his eyes already starting to fall shut, and God, he’s _right fucking there…_

 

“...Are you gonna stop me this time?” Daiki interrupts, deliberately maintaining the slight gap between them, and he knows he’s being difficult, he knows there’s a stubborn, shit-eating grin on his face, but he can’t help it. They’re too close. Too big and nervous and sweaty, and he doesn’t know if he’s ready now.     

 

Kagami rolls his eyes, and before Daiki can laugh or stall or really start to panic, there’s a large, warm hand on the back of his neck and suddenly the gap is gone.  

 

His lips are dry, when they finally touch Daiki’s own, his fingers sliding up so slowly into Daiki’s hair as he kisses him like a question. Daiki’s breath hitches, and he answers by surging forward and pressing their lips together harder, fitting them together like he imagined they might and hearing Kagami moan, quiet and kind of shaky in the back of his throat.

 

He lets the strap of his bag drop from his hand so he can put both around Kagami’s shoulders, digging his fingers into the sweat-damp fabric of his shirt, pulling him, wanting to touch him. The floodlights make sharp, bright white shapes on his skin and it’s hard to keep looking at him. He closes his eyes.

 

Kagami breathes out harshly through his nose and changes the angle, all focused and intense like he gets on the court, opening his mouth against Daiki’s and stroking a curious hand down his chest. Daiki shivers, electrified, and jerks him closer by the collar, both of them stumbling until the backs of his legs hit something solid.

 

He barely has time to notice that he’s backed up against the front of his car before Kagami’s practically bending him over it. He has to throw out an arm to brace himself against the hood, and now he’s really shaking, pulling away to suck in a lungful of night air and look at Kagami, backlit and fucking gorgeous in the cool glow of the street court behind him, grinning like he knows exactly what he’s done.

 

“How’s that for something you haven’t seen?” he laughs, leaning over Daiki until he can see the color on his cheeks, and almost feel the heat radiating off his skin. He looks exhilarated.

 

Daiki snorts, but he’s grinning right back at him, “Y’know...for someone who’s so good at losing, you sure have a way of getting what you want...”

 

Shit, he’s still not breathing normally. His chest feels strangely tight, and frankly, so do his pants, though that’s probably not as strange.

 

“Hmm,” Kagami says, his hand exploring from Daiki’s shoulder down to his waist, hesitating at the top of his thigh, “Are you saying you don’t want this?”

 

He’s still teasing, clearly, and he’s sure taking this touching Daiki thing and running with it, but his expression is sincere, like he’d back off without a protest if Daiki told him to.

 

Right now that’s the furthest thing from Daiki’s mind.

 

“No,” he murmurs, and hooks a finger in the chain around Kagami’s neck, pulling him down to kiss him again. Kagami gasps and complies, bracing one knee against the dented fender and smoothing his hands down Daiki’s thighs, dipping his tongue into his mouth. Daiki feels _drunk._

 

Snagging a hand in Kagami’s hair, he plunges in with his own tongue, groaning low in his throat because it’s so much hotter than he expected it to be. Kagami’s thumbs are making little circles on the insides of his thighs, and his tongue is slicking between Kagami’s teeth, and he kind of can’t breathe anymore.

 

Then Kagami slides one hand up higher and cautiously, almost shyly traces over the obvious swelling in Daiki’s pants. Daiki’s breath expels in a rush, and he has to stop his hips from lifting up. It’s a feather-light touch, barely anything, but it still sends a lance of pleasure up through his stomach like fire.

 

“Good?” Kagami breathes against his mouth, and he’s panting, eager, so _fucking_ hot.

 

“Yeah,” Daiki almost moans, and the next, more confident caress has him shifting restlessly in place, his breath still coming in shallow bursts that aren't nearly enough. His eyes are closed, and Kagami’s large hand is feeling him up, lightly squeezing through the fabric, and it feels so good he thinks he might actually pass out.

 

“You’re clean, right?” Kagami all but whispers, his lips mere centimeters from Daiki’s face.

 

The question brings Daiki back down to Earth so fast that he feels dizzy, and he lets out a low sigh, some of the building heat evaporating like mist. Of course it isn’t that simple. People lie, condoms break, a _one-time thing_ follows him around for the rest of his life. He’s got something way bigger than an STI on his track record, after all.

 

“Yeah,” he says, watching Kagami only slightly hysterically as alarm bells start to clamor in his head, “Why, you thinking of fucking me right on the hood of my car?”

 

Making out and some heavy petting after the rush of a game is one thing, but that...well, that is quite another.

 

Kagami laughs at that, and knocks their foreheads together lightly. Daiki’s not sure if it’s intentional.

 

“Not exactly,” he says, as he cups Daiki’s crotch more firmly and looks up at him between his lashes, “I was thinking we could go back to my place...and maybe you’d let me suck this?”

 

Daiki stares at him, agape. _How can he say that with such a straight face?_ “You’d...like that?”

 

Kagami laughs again, low in his chest, and it really shouldn’t be such a sexy sound but Daiki can feel his thread of self-control starting to unravel just the same.

 

“Hell yeah...honestly, I’ve kinda wanted to blow you since we met. How about it?”

 

All the air leaves Daiki’s lungs in a gust as Kagami palms him again, and he’s sure the blatant proposition is only making him grow harder in his grasp, the seam of his pants tightening almost to the point of pain. It really shouldn’t be this easy -- _he_ isn’t usually this easy -- but Kagami’s touch and the deep, smooth rumble of his voice are hitting him in all the right places and he can’t remember anything ever feeling so good and _God,_ is he pent up.

 

Still, there’s a spark of unease ramping up in his chest, and he shoots a furtive glance over his shoulder at the side window of his car, barely able to make out the top of Yui’s car seat through the tinted glass. Kagami, on the other hand, seems to have eyes only for him. Burning, half-lidded eyes that seem inclined to take Daiki’s silence as encouragement to go right ahead. Daiki’s heart is hammering against his ribs, and he realizes he’s holding his breath, but as Kagami leans forward, he’s leaning back, turning his head to prevent their lips meeting again.

 

“Wait,” he gasps out, thinking feverishly that if Kagami touches his cock right now, he might just come in his pants on the spot and that’ll be that.

 

But Kagami’s odd eyebrows are furrowing in confusion -- no, _concern_ \-- and immediately, he withdraws his hand and stands back. As he recedes, Daiki can suddenly breathe again, but his body almost feels bruised in his absence, aching for the return of that exquisite heat and contact.

 

“What is it?” Kagami asks, watching him carefully, patiently, though his eyes are still scorching, his cheeks flushed with pleasure and desire. Daiki sighs and stands up, ignoring the persistent throbbing in his own pants and trying to get his head on straight.

 

“I...can’t,” he says, the apology implicit in his voice and lowered gaze, “I’ve gotta pick up Yui, it’s already late…”

 

“Bring her with you, then,” Kagami offers, hope and eagerness written plainly all over his fucking face, “You can both spend the night, I’ll set up the guest room for --”

 

“No,” Daiki cuts him off, backing up a step before his restraint can waver, wondering hazily what kind of college student has a _vacant_ _guest room.._.

 

Then he glances at Kagami again, despite his better judgment, realizing that might have come out pretty harsh. He doesn’t look wounded, but somehow his resigned, understanding gaze makes Daiki feel worse. “I mean um...maybe...some other time…sorry.”

 

There. A proper goddamn apology. Kagami deserves at least that much, and probably more.

 

But Kagami is shaking his head firmly, “No, don’t be. _I’m_ sorry, I shouldn’t’ve pushed so hard --”

 

“That’s not it,” Daiki says, “Believe me. But can we uh...take a rain check?”

 

The corner of Kagami’s mouth lifts in a tiny smirk, his face brightening with something like relief, and Daiki instantly feels about a hundred times better.

 

“Sure.”

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, there it is... Can you believe it took seven damn chapters for these losers to kiss, I mean this is me we're talking about.
> 
> Comments and kudos give me life! Thanks so much for reading! <3


	8. Chapter 8

Three days later, Daiki is still thinking about the kiss. ...At the worst possible times; he keeps spacing out at home and at work, and the commute between the two, completely forgetting what he was doing as the last moments before he tasted Kagami’s lips for the first time replay in his mind, over and over. He’s forgotten his keys twice, and had a close call with almost putting his phone in the microwave, which he thankfully caught in time before he blew the whole kitchen up. He hasn’t been this out of it since Yui was still in diapers and he was typically running on two, sometimes three stolen hours of sleep. He’s losing his goddamn mind.

 

He also hasn’t been this keenly aware of how fucking impossible it is for him to get a moment of privacy in awhile. He’d resigned himself to simply not having any a long time ago, but now...now that his mind is constantly full of Kagami’s deep, lilting voice and slow, sensual touch...he could really, really use some. He can’t even remember the last time he was able to jerk off in peace, and for a guy his age, with his libido, that’s probably borderline _unhealthy_.

 

He can feel some kind of tension lurking under his skin, like an itch in the back of his brain, and he knows it’s at least partially tied to his frustration and the reason for his distracted state, but it isn’t until the following morning that it all comes to a head. And not in the way he’d expected.

 

“Come on, Yui,” he’s coaxing as he joins her at the table, scraping together the last vestiges of his patience, “Eat your breakfast so we can go, okay?”

 

“Don’t wanna,” Yui says, crossing her arms where she’s sitting and glowering at her bowl.

 

 _She’s so goddamn stubborn,_ Daiki thinks ruefully, _Wonder where she gets that from._

 

“Why not? Look, it’s even strawberry.” He picks up her spoon and turns it through the oatmeal, showing her the bright red pieces, “Your favorite…”

 

“Uncle Taiga’s was better!” Yui points out.

 

“Well, Uncle Taiga isn’t here,” Daiki says flatly, scooping up a spoonful of oatmeal and holding it out to her, “Now eat up, before it gets cold.”

 

“No!” Yui refuses, turning her nose up at even his best efforts.

 

Daiki’s hand clenches on the spoon, but by some miracle his voice remains gentle as he throws in another bargaining chip, “...Please?” He raises his eyebrows at her, deliberately affecting an edge of humor and inviting her to join in the private joke.

 

Yui rejects all of it; the request, the humility, the strained, cajoling smile, and grabs the bowl, looking Daiki right in the eye and flipping it over the edge of the table. With a wet _plop_ , a clumpy shower of boiled oats and strawberries lands on the floor and the seat of her chair, splattering all over her clean shirt and pants. The bowl itself hits the ground and smashes into pieces.

 

Daiki stares at the resulting mess in disbelief, in the split-second after the crash, and doesn’t even have time to come to terms with the massive delay that cleaning it up and changing Yui’s clothes -- let alone seeing to it that she still gets fed -- is going to cause, before she lets out a jarring scream of outrage, looking down at her soiled clothes as though she’s been attacked.

 

Daiki’s temper ignites.

 

“That was _your_ fault!” he bursts out before he can think, slamming his hands down on the table and struggling to be heard over the noise. It doesn’t matter either way, Yui isn’t listening, “If you just ate your breakfast, like I _asked,_ you wouldn’t be wearing it right now!”

 

“ _No!_ ” Yui sobs, nonsensically, in between furious, heaving breaths, “Don’t like it!”

 

“Tough shit, I did the best I could!” Daiki shouts back, subconsciously realizing that he’s fucking up, he’s only making it worse, but the explosion has already been triggered, and he can’t cap it off now, “Now we’re _both_ going to be late, because of you! Why can’t you just _do what you’re told?”_

 

Yui doesn’t say anything, just wails even louder in his face, huge tears rolling down her cheeks from her wide, distraught eyes.

 

All at once, Daiki’s anger deflates, and he stares at her in horror as it hits him fully what he just did.

 

“Fuck...” he groans, pressing his head into his hands and slumping against the table. He can’t fucking undo that. All he can do now is damage control.

 

Yui keeps on crying deafeningly from her seat, stopping only to fill her lungs and add fuel to the fire, and Daiki knows if he tries talking to her now, he’ll just be drowned out and ultimately ignored.

 

So he gets up, picks her up from her chair, and brushes as much off the cooling oatmeal off of her front as he can. She tries to fight him on it, shrieking in protest and pushing her hands against his chest, to little effect, but once her clothes are reasonably free of the sludge, Daiki shifts his arm around to hold her close, murmuring soothing nonsense to her and running his free hand through her short, soft hair.  

 

Then she stops fighting, but she’s still sobbing right in his ear, clutching at his shirt with her tiny fists while he tries everything he knows to comfort her.

 

“It’s alright, Yui,” he’s saying, rocking his weight from foot to foot and gently shaking her, “I’m sorry I yelled, I’m not mad at you...just take a nice, deep breath for me, okay? That’s it…”

 

Yui gulps another shuddering breath and buries her face in his chest, sniffling pitifully, but otherwise falling silent at last. Daiki keeps rocking her, keeps rambling in a steady undertone, saying anything that comes to mind, just to give her something to focus on.

 

“...Yui?” he prompts after she's been quiet for several minutes, stroking her hair again, “You okay now, baby?”

 

It’s not a very common endearment from him, and it’s embarrassing as fuck to say, but desperate times call for desperate measures...and it works. Yui nods into his shirt and tries to hug him, though she can only reach around to about his armpits from where she is. Daiki tightens his grip around her in response, and carries her toward the bedroom, glancing at the clock above the stove on the way. He sighs and promptly disregards the information.

 

“Okay,” he says, dragging a last-ditch scrap of positivity from God-knows-where as he sets her down, “Let’s get you in some clean new clothes and give breakfast another try, sound good?”

 

“Juice?” Yui asks, her voice raspy.

 

“Whatever you want,” Daiki promises, wiping her streaming nose with the driest corner of her shirt, and then lifting it over her head.  

 

Ideally, he would have liked to bathe her before putting the new clothes on her, but he’s already going to be criminally late as it is, and getting her hair wet before taking her outside might just result in another cold, so decides to make do with a fresh shirt and pants, tossing the stained ones in a pile to be dealt with later. He also changes his own shirt, for good measure; it’s soaked through in places with tears and snot, and he’s already committed to fixing his mess instead of being on time, might as well see it through.

 

It takes almost fifteen minutes to clean up the spill and ceramic shards, and throw together another bowl of instant oatmeal that he somehow convinces Yui to eat this time, armed with a combination of juice and compromises. By the time he washes her face, helps her brush her teeth, and gets her in the car, he’s stopped trying to calculate exactly how late he’s going to be. He’s well past the point of no return now.

 

And he’s not even a little bit surprised when the car refuses to start at his prompting, the first few times. Sighing, he glances at Yui in the rearview, and finds her looking away sullenly, her eyes still kind of red and puffy at the corners.

 

Guilt twists in his chest, and he casts about for something, anything to make her feel better, his eyes finally landing on something small and pale blue stuck in the gap between his seat and the gear stick. Something he’d initially forgotten about.

 

“Hey,” he says, pulling the toy car out of the crack and turning to look at her properly, “I have something for you.”

 

He waits until she looks his way to hold out the car to her, offering it along with a faint, conciliatory smile. She reaches out to take it with a look of wonder, like he’d handed her a precious gem instead of a cheap piece of molded foam.

 

“It’s blue!” she exclaims, cradling it in her lap and sitting back to admire it, all smiles again. Daiki lets out a slow, relieved breath and turns back around.

 

“Can we be friends again now?” he asks, meeting her gaze in the mirror as he resumes his efforts to get the real car’s engine running.

 

Yui giggles in response, which is really all Daiki needs to hear, while she swoops the foam car through the air like an airplane.

 

“Okay, Daddy,” she says, and the engine finally rumbles to life.

 

He already expects to have hell to pay, by the time he drops off Yui and arrives at the construction site. In fact, he’s counting on it. His boss, Naoto-san, is a hardass who doesn’t let things like that slide, at least not without a lengthy lecture or a threat of retribution. He’s chewed Daiki out for tardiness or slacking off on multiple occasions, and doesn't offer any more leeway to anyone else on his team.

 

At least he doesn’t play favorites.

 

So Daiki is already bracing himself when he gets out of the car and approaches the Tyvek-wrapped house in progress, spotting Naoto-san and deciding it’s better to get the inevitable over with quickly. He heaves a sigh and changes course to move toward him.

 

“Sorry --” He barely has time to get the word out before Naoto-san is talking over him, not even bothering with a greeting. _Here we go…_

 

“So you finally decided to show up, did you?” he says, irritation written all over his face, “Do you have any idea how late you are?”

 

“I know,” Daiki says quickly, “I just --”

 

“I don’t want to hear any excuses,” Naoto-san interrupts, pushing up his glasses and looking down at his clipboard, “This is your third write-up in less than a year, and I’ve already given you enough verbal warnings to make myself blue in the face. That’s three strikes, Aomine-kun.”

 

“What?” Daiki says, trying to meet his steely gaze. His mental preparations hadn’t accounted for this.

 

Naoto-san tears off a sheet of paper and hands it to him in one fluid motion.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says, frowning, “I truly am. I know your home life is challenging, and you’re a good hard worker when you want to be, but as I’ve said before, this team has no room for someone who doesn’t make showing up on time a top priority. I can’t make an exception just for you.”

 

Daiki looks down at the sheet, and then back up at his face, eyes widening a fraction as it sinks in that he's been fired.

 

Somehow, he hadn’t seen that coming at all, but he knows better than to ask for second chances. He’s already had them, and the hard set of Naoto-san’s face says that he means business.

 

 _Fuck it, then._ Gathering his dignity, he straightens and folds up the paper in his hand. He’s got other jobs, and can probably still find another if he has to; it’s not the end of the world.

 

“Fine. Your loss,” he sniffs, holding his head high before he turns his back. He doesn’t owe this guy any show of fabricated remorse, or even respect...not anymore. He's not even particularly upset. In fact, he’s glad for the opportunity to put at least one shitshow behind him today. He’s going home.

 

.

 

.

  

 

 

> On the way to the hospital, Dai-chan hadn’t said anything. He sat with Satsuki in the back seat while her father drove, but he spend most of the ride just staring out the window, leaning his forehead against the glass and looking away from her.
> 
>  
> 
> Satsuki didn’t know if he was still angry at her, if he was thinking (the most unlikely option), or if he was just in shock. She was certainly having enough of a hard time accepting the reality of what was happening, herself. She didn’t feel any different, a little achy and uncomfortable, but that had essentially become her new norm over the past few months; it was difficult to believe that she was in fact going through the early stages of labor.   
> 
>  
> 
> Now that she was situated in a hospital bed, wearing one of those breezy pale green gowns with her parents on one side of the room and Dai-chan draped in a chair on the other, she was gradually starting to realize that she was in for a long night.
> 
>  
> 
> The first thing Dai-chan said, after more than half an hour of cold-shouldered silence, was a petulant question addressed to the room at large.
> 
>  
> 
> “Shouldn’t we be doing something right now?” He rolled his head back on his shoulders, lolling against the back of the chair in a combination of stress and boredom that only he could pull off.
> 
>  
> 
> Satsuki’s father was the one to answer, with a dry chuckle, “How about boiling some water?”
> 
>  
> 
> Dai-chan sat up, looking confused, and Satsuki couldn’t help but laugh a little awkwardly, “Knowing Dai-chan, he’d probably burn it.”
> 
>  
> 
> “You are the one person who doesn’t get to say that to me,” Dai-chan retorted, looking right at her for the first time since they left the house, a line appearing between his eyebrows, “...Are you okay?”
> 
>  
> 
> “I’m fine,” Satsuki sighed, shifting under his demanding gaze, “I don’t really feel anything, if it was getting close I assume we’d know.”
> 
>  
> 
> “You’ll know,” her mother assured her, resting a hand on the railing beside the bed.
> 
>  
> 
> “...What’re we boiling water for, anyway?”
> 
>  
> 
> “We’re not, Dai-kun,” Satsuki’s mother said kindly, before fixing her father with an unserious glare, “What my husband is _trying_ to say is be patient. There’s nothing to do now but wait.”
> 
>  
> 
> Satsuki knew exactly how useless it was to tell Dai-chan to be patient, and she lay back with a sigh, resigning herself to his complaining for however long they were here, suspended in limbo and watching the hands on the clock.
> 
>  
> 
> As she expected, it didn’t take long for him to break the spell of quiet again, “Satsuki?”
> 
>  
> 
> “What is it, Dai-chan?” she said tonelessly.
> 
>  
> 
> “We shouldn’t’ve fought.”
> 
>  
> 
> She blinked at him in surprise. That was probably as close to an apology as she was going to get from him; she hadn’t expected him to bring it up at all, especially not in front of her parents.
> 
>  
> 
> “It’s okay…” she said, with an uncertain glance in their direction, “It was...illuminating, I guess. And probably inevitable.”
> 
>  
> 
> She lowered her gaze to her own lap as that thought sank in, taking root in her mind. It wasn’t the first, and certainly wouldn’t be the last time she and Dai-chan argued. He could argue with a brick wall, if pushed, and she wondered now with a surge of trepidation what that was going to mean for him, for them, going forward.
> 
>  
> 
> A vision of the future -- of _his_ future, if he stayed true to form -- was slowly piecing itself together in her mind. Nothing would try his patience more than the endless demands of caring for a baby; what was he going to do when it became too much for him? If he couldn’t take it out on Satsuki, and couldn’t escape it, she assumed he would either blow up at the child, or gradually self-destruct if he held it all in.
> 
>  
> 
> She didn’t see any other possible outcome, but she knew now that she couldn’t stop him. He’d made up his mind, and though much of his argument before had been selfish and irrational, he was right about one thing. It was his baby, too. She couldn’t deny him at least a say in how this turned out.
> 
>  
> 
> And just as she was struggling with the idea that there was nothing she could do to change this, or take it back, she was interrupted by something else that she was unable to control...in the form of a slow, clenching ripple of pain that started in her stomach and then dug in lower, shooting all the way down into her legs. She bit down on the involuntary whimper that rose into her throat.
> 
>  
> 
> “Satsuki?” Dai-chan asked again, already getting to his feet. What he lacked in observation, he made up for in instinct.
> 
>  
> 
> “It’s coming,” Satsuki gasped, a sting of real fear rearing its head as she realized that in this, she had absolutely no choice. This was happening whether she liked it or not. “...The baby’s coming now.”

 

.

 

.

 

It’s way too early to pick Yui up from daycare, and Daiki knows he’ll be charged for the whole day whether she’s there for one hour or eight, so it doesn’t seem sensible to rush over when he just dropped her off not twenty minutes ago. Especially after the morning they'd had...allowing some time for tempers to cool and for Yui to want to see him again might be a good idea, for both of their sakes.

 

He doesn’t tend to get a lot of time to himself either, as he’s been consistently reminded lately. So at first, it’s a huge relief to be able to just come home and collapse on the couch, without stopping to so much as take his shoes off. It's actually _quiet,_ and for a moment, it’s bliss. He doesn’t even feel bad about the reason for his unexpected day off, just revels in the silence and the solitude, closing his eyes and folding his arms behind his head, stretching out on his back and listening to the sweet sound of nothing at all.

 

...Then boredom sets in, much as he tries to talk himself out of it. He’s not used to this, being in this empty apartment all on his own, being able to hear his own thoughts...having no semblance of structure or obligation whatsoever. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with himself.   

 

He snorts irritably, and rolls onto his side. He’s being stupid. He’s _free_ right now, for the first time in ages, he can do anything he wants. He could take a nap, he could watch TV -- something besides cartoons, what a concept -- he could jerk off to Kagami’s scent on the couch cushions...

 

His eyes snap open, because that thought kind of came out of nowhere, but when he presses his nose against the arm of the couch and breathes in deep, he discovers that, even over a week after he slept there, there is in fact still a faint, savory hint of what must be Kagami’s cologne lingering in the fibers. He vaguely recalls it from their night out at the bar, when they got close enough to touch and almost kiss, and the thought alone nearly makes him dizzy.

 

He could really do it. There's really nothing stopping him from lying here in broad daylight, drinking in the fading whisper of Kagami’s smell and touching himself to the thought of him. Imagining it’s Kagami putting his big hands on him, like he did the other night...

 

Actually, there’s nothing stopping him from calling him up right now to see if he wants to try a repeat performance. Maybe they could even take it further this time, there’s no real reason why not.

 

Except that Daiki has little to no idea how he would even go about that. No idea what to expect, and while he can guess that Kagami probably does, he doesn’t particularly want to admit his inexperience to him. Hell, his only real experience so far has been Satsuki...and she took the reins that entire time, requiring total control, like she does in everything.

 

As usual, when he doesn’t know what to do, the internet is there for him. The answers to anything he’d like to know are a few seconds away, at his fingertips...if only he could think of how to ask.

 

When he pulls his phone out of his pocket and opens his browser, the last thing he searched -- ‘ _Can a three year old sleep in a crib?’ --_ appears on the screen. He sighs and deletes the question that had been met with a pretty resounding “ _no”,_ putting that ticking clock out of his mind for now and considering the top of his current list of concerns.

 

His first impulse is to try something like ‘ _How does gay sex work?’_ , but he can’t even _begin_ to imagine what kind of results that would bring up. So he starts a little smaller.

 

The results for ‘ _two guys kissing’_ aren’t much more helpful; a lot of images, a lot of forums for confused teens, a smattering of the inevitable flood of porn links he’d expected. He even considers tapping a few just to see what the fuss is about, but decides against it every time. That’s a slippery slope, and he’s still trying to take this at least relatively slow. Make sure he’s comfortable walking before he tries to run.

 

By the time he’s beaten around the bush as much as he can stand, though, he thinks he’s finally gained at least some kind of insight. Into his own inclinations, if nothing else.

 

Oh, he’d had his suspicions before now, for sure; he doesn’t think he could have spent so long playing basketball against sweaty, firmly muscled guys without even an inkling reaching him...whatever people like to say, he’s not that dumb. But it seems like the way he reacted when Kagami kissed him was definitely not a fluke, and that just leaves the logistics.

 

He swallows, and decides to try searching something a little riskier. Straight to the point. He’s going to have so many goddamn cookies on his phone by the time this is over…

 

He only manages to scroll through a few results this time before he drops the phone onto his chest, throwing an arm across his face with a groan of mortification. He can’t fucking do this. He’s definitely _interested_ , if the little twitch of alertness against his zipper is any indication, but he doesn’t know how he’s going to be able to look Kagami in the eye if he digs any deeper on his own right now.  

 

Satsuki would probably disagree with him, but he thinks that there really is such a thing as too much information.

 

After taking a moment to calm down and think clean thoughts, he picks his phone up again and pulls up Kagami’s contact, hovering his thumb over the message box as he formulates what he wants to say.

 

 _‘I’m free rn want to come over?’_ he types out initially, and then hesitates, staring at the send button and biting his lip. There’s no way Kagami can misinterpret that, is there?

 

After almost a solid minute of wavering, he erases the message with a defeated sigh and tries again.

 

**To Kagami:**

**12:13 pm**

 

_I’m free rn want to meet at the street court?_

 

He stares at the screen for a good few seconds after the message is delivered, kicking himself; wanting to take it back but he can’t, wanting Kagami to answer but he doesn’t, at least not until several minutes later.

 

Daiki’s phone is face-down on his chest again by that time, and he’s glaring at the ceiling ruefully when it finally vibrates. Snatching it up, he finds a single notification from Kagami, but it’s not what he was hoping for.

 

**From Kagami**

**12:29 pm**

 

_Damn I wish! Still got four hours of class left._

 

Daiki scowls down at his screen. Of course. It’s a weekday, Kagami has school. That kind of...throws a wrench in the whole thing, doesn’t it? Not that anything would have necessarily happened if he were free, especially when Daiki’s too chickenshit to come out and say what he really wants, but it’s still disappointing.

 

It occurs to him that he never actually asked what Kagami studies, and he thinks of rectifying that now, but then decides that it doesn’t really matter. It doesn’t change the bottom line for him, and it won’t cure his boredom or solve his current crisis to discuss college courses that he doesn’t plan on taking.

 

Idly, he opens up his browser again, just long enough to glance at his last search request, and then sneers at himself and closes out of it. There’s no way he’s doing that now.

 

Maybe he should go down to the street court anyway. It’s been forever since he’s practiced by himself, and though it won’t be nearly as entertaining as playing Kagami, maybe he can at least vent some adrenaline and pass some time, until it’s a more suitable hour for him to pick Yui up.

 

He’s literally got nothing better to do.

 

.

 

.

 

 

 

> In a haze of blinding pain and delirium, Satsuki could see Dai-chan’s face.
> 
>  
> 
> He had been by her side when the contractions started, sometimes hovering in her peripheral vision, sometimes offering his hand for comfort, much as she viciously squeezed his fingers and dug her nails into his skin.
> 
>  
> 
> Her parents kept trying to speak to her, piling their voices on top of her in a swirl of meaningless noise, but Dai-chan didn’t say a word, even while she hurled abuse at him with every wave of agony that wrung through her body; screaming, cursing him out, blaming him for every little thing. He stood by her but wouldn't look her in the eye.
> 
>  
> 
> And at some point, when she was especially cruel, he excused himself from the room, her litany of invectives chasing him out the door.
> 
>  
> 
> “Don’t you fucking leave me with this, Dai-chan!” she shouted at his retreating back, squeezing her eyes shut with a cry as another merciless cramp took her, “You coward --!”
> 
>  
> 
> Then she was alone, deaf to her parents’ soothing words and the nurse’s steady prompting. She was alone with her own fear and agony, alone with the stupid mistake that she was unwillingly bringing into the world.
> 
>  
> 
> How had she let Dai-chan talk her into this? She _knew_ Dai-chan, she knew he was stubborn and impulsive, and always managed to weasel his way out at the first sign of trouble. She knew he couldn’t handle this on his own, but she’d gone along with him anyway. And now he had backed out, leaving her to deal with the consequences, just as she’d predicted.
> 
>  
> 
> She couldn’t see any future anymore. All she could hear was chaos and the ragged breath at the end of a scream.
> 
>  
> 
> ...At the moment just before the birth of his child, Satsuki could see Dai-chan’s face.
> 
>  
> 
> He was there at the foot of the bed, next to her parents and the delivery nurse, watching with expectant, unwavering eyes that swam in Satsuki’s blurring vision. She didn’t know when he’d come back, or why, but he was here now, at the moment of truth.
> 
>  
> 
> A last, desperate push; a last rush of tearing, burning pain, and then it was over. Satsuki collapsed in exhaustion, staring up at the fluorescent lights overhead and wondering dazedly if she would ever breathe again.
> 
>  
> 
> Then a high, gurgling shriek pierced the moment of relief, and air rushed into her lungs like the first breath she’d ever taken as the nurse called out, “It’s a girl!”
> 
>  
> 
> Weakly, she raised her head, in time to see the red, wet, furious tangle of limbs being swaddled in a towel and transferred gently into Dai-chan’s waiting arms.
> 
>  
> 
> _Oh God…_ she thought blearily, watching him struggle to figure out how to hold the new baby with shaking hands that seemed to utterly dwarf her… _It’s a girl._
> 
>  

.

 

.

 

Daiki hadn’t counted on the street court already being occupied when he arrived there, after showering and grabbing something to eat -- yet more tasks he’s no longer accustomed to carrying out by himself, with only himself to worry about.

 

Today just isn’t his day. It’s the middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday, and it’s _freezing_ , who would’ve guessed that this would be the time for some idiot to decide to come out and shoot some hoops?

 

He glances at the basketball in his passenger seat, and the irony finally sets in. _Well, two idiots are probably better than one._

 

He’s within ten strides of the fence before it hits him that actually, he recognizes this idiot. When the guy’s elegant jumpshot makes his long black bangs flip up over his eyes, the silver chain around his neck bouncing against his chest.

 

“Yo!” Daiki raises one hand in a casual wave as he steps onto the court, and the guy looks up, catching the ball as it rebounds off the hoop and almost fumbling it.

 

“Uh...hey,” he says, propping the ball against his hip with fleeting smile as he regains his cool, “Almost didn’t recognize you in the daylight. How’s it going, Aomine?”

 

Daiki shrugs, testing the feel of his own ball against the pavement. Could use some more air; he doesn’t remember where he put his tire pump last.

 

“Can’t complain,” he says, catching it again with a smirk, “And I could say the same to you...uh...what’s your name?”

 

“Very funny.”

 

“Sorry,” Daiki grins wickedly, “It’s just that I play against so _many_ people --”

 

“Alright, I get it,” Himuro interrupts, holding up a hand to stop him, “You’re charming. I can totally see why Taiga’s so into you.”

 

Daiki knows it's meant to be a jab, but he actually has to suppress a sudden surge of giddiness at that statement that he will never admit.

 

“So what are you doing here?” he asks, spinning the ball on the end of his finger and doing his best to look bored.

 

For some reason, he gets the impression that Himuro sees right through the indifferent act. His steady gaze is far too knowing.

 

“My shift doesn’t start for two hours,” he says, “Sometimes I like to come out here first and get the blood flowing.” His acute stare suddenly turns even sharper, “What about _you?_ I thought you, like, didn’t believe in free time or something. According to Taiga, you’re tied up so often you’d probably be comfortable in full bondage.”

 

The ball drops, and Daiki just barely saves it from bouncing away.

 

“He did _not_ say that.”

 

Himuro snickers, “No, but you should see your face.”  

 

Daiki picks his jaw up off the ground in time to thrust it out at him pugnaciously, but he thinks his cheeks might still be flaming.

 

“Wow, you’re actually an asshole,” he huffs, “Does Kagami know that about you?”

 

“Oh, hey there kettle, the name’s pot,” Himuro says breezily, “And are you kidding? He’s most of the reason I am. He’s so ridiculously easy to tease, you should try it.”

 

Daiki can’t help but laugh at that, loosening himself up and dribbling the ball in his hand a few times, “Yeah, I think I already got that.”

 

Himuro turns his gaze to his own ball for a moment, and then looks back at him, “So hey, since you’re here, do you wanna go one-on-one a bit? Solo practice gets kind of dull after a while.”

 

Daiki shows him his teeth, “You really think you can handle me?”

 

“Please,” Himuro rolls his eyes, dropping into a confident stance, “I think I’ll manage.”

 

Naturally, Daiki crushes him. It doesn’t take very long, either, and by the end, he’s barely keeping track of the score. The game just becomes increasingly one-sided, the points piling up in Daiki’s favor as he effortlessly tosses the ball through the net, over and over again. He has to hand it to Himuro, though, he doesn’t stop fighting until dehydration forces him to the bench, and even then, it’s a reluctant surrender.

 

“You know, you’re not much of a challenge without your big, strong fiancé to back you up,” Daiki gloats, backing up and flinging the ball at the hoop from outside the lines, just for the hell of it. It goes in cleanly.

 

Himuro pauses with one hand still in his bag, and Daiki thinks he might be working up to retort, but to his disappointment, he doesn’t. He just sighs and pulls out a plastic water bottle.

 

“Have you used that line with Taiga before?” he asks once he’s taken a healthy swig, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

 

“What line?” Daiki scowls, plopping down on one side of the bench and letting his hands dangle in between his knees.

 

“What you just said about him being my fiancé,” Himuro clarifies, while he screws the cap back on his bottle absently.

 

Daiki frowns at him, “Yeah, sometimes,” he says slowly, “Like you said, it’s really easy to tease him, why?”

 

Sighing again, Himuro takes a seat on the other side of the bench and runs a hand through his hair, smoothing down his bangs.

 

“Nothing, just...there’s sort of a history there,” he says, “Messy stuff that’s in the past now and has nothing to do with you, but --”

 

“Like what, are you his ex or something?” Daiki interrupts impatiently.

 

Himuro squirms a little, looking uncomfortable, but doesn’t answer right away. His nails have started picking at the label around his water bottle, slowly peeling it off.

 

“...That bad?”

 

“Let’s just say that joking about it could be seen as rather insensitive,” Himuro says, without looking up.

 

Daiki gathers that it must have been pretty damn bad, then.

 

“Ah fuck,” he sighs, scrubbing his hands over his face, “He should’ve said something. You guys are so chummy with each other all the time, how was I supposed to know that?”

 

“No, of course, you couldn’t have known,” Himuro says quickly, setting the now denuded bottle aside and turning to face him, “It’s behind us anyway, at this point, but I figured I should probably still clue you in…”

 

He’s being way too flippant, Daiki decides, narrowing his eyes at him across the bench.

 

“What exactly happened?”

 

Himuro seems to be making an effort not to look away, but in the end he fails, and averts his gaze.

 

“It was my fault,” he says, “The whole thing, I won’t try to deny it.” He straightens, but he’s still looking away, fiddling with the ring around his neck; the twin to Kagami's. “I was...confused, deep in the closet and afraid of my own feelings…and Taiga got caught in the crossfire, but I never meant to hurt him. You have to believe that.”

 

Daiki looks at him for a moment, and then snorts, “That’s really vague.”

 

“I know,” Himuro says, “I’m sorry...but I don’t think I can give you the full details, at least not like this...behind Taiga’s back. If you want the whole story, you’ll have to take it up with him.”

 

Daiki crosses his arms over his chest, and tips his head back to look at the cloudless sky.

 

“Maybe I will.”

 

.

 

.

 

 

 

> “You look tired,” Dai-chan said, pulling up a chair at her bedside and dropping himself into it.
> 
>  
> 
> “Over  _four kilograms_ , Dai-chan,” Satsuki reminded him, with a weary attempt at a wry smile, “You don’t do anything halfway, do you?”
> 
>  
> 
> “Of course not,” Dai-chan sniffed, tipping the chair back on its legs slightly and wearing a smirk of his own. Satsuki sighed and turned her attention to the sleeping bundle nestled in her arms.
> 
>  
> 
> “You’re going to have to name her eventually, you know.”
> 
>  
> 
> With a jarring scrape, Dai-chan let the chair land on all four legs again, “Why me? I suck at naming things.”
> 
>  
> 
> “She’s not a _thing_ , she’s your daughter,” Satsuki pointed out, testing how it felt to say it, “And you should start taking some responsibility here, I’m not doing all the work.”
> 
>  
> 
> Dai-chan frowned, “I know.” He hunched forward in his seat, bracing his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together, as close to contemplative as Satsuki assumed she’d ever see him, “Okay then...how about Mai?”
> 
>  
> 
> Satsuki caught on immediately, “You are _not_ naming her after Mai-chan,” she snapped, “Take this seriously, would you?”
> 
>  
> 
> “I’m trying,” Dai-chan complained, scratching a hand through his hair in aggravation, “I told you, I suck at names, why don’t you pick one?”
> 
>  
> 
> “If I pick one, you’ll hate it, and then you’ll be stuck with it for the next eighteen years,” Satsuki threatened.
> 
>  
> 
> “I won’t hate it,” Dai-chan said, scooting his chair forward. Satsuki rolled her eyes, but decided to humor him, as long as she was still too worn out to argue.
> 
>  
> 
> “Miyuki?” she suggested. Maybe it was superstitious, but she couldn’t help trying for something with a quiet, serene connotation. Trying to influence and change her picture of the future.
> 
>  
> 
> Dai-chan’s nose wrinkled, and he utterly failed to hide it.
> 
>  
> 
> “You said you wouldn’t hate it,” Satsuki said, “Fine, how about just Yuki?”
> 
>  
> 
> “Really, _snow,_ in the middle of summer?” Dai-chan protested, but then a thought seemed to occur to him, and he sat back, “...How about Yui?”
> 
>  
> 
> Satsuki blinked, and bit her lip. As long as they were translating here, Yui could have several meanings, depending on how it was written. She wondered if he was thinking of the same one she was. _‘Alone.’_
> 
>  
> 
> “It...sounds nice, but...Dai-chan…” she trailed off; even she could hear the note of concern in her own voice.
> 
>  
> 
> Dai-chan waved her off impatiently and got to his feet, grabbing the hospital memo pad and scratching something on it. Then he tore off the top sheet and showed her a single, exceedingly simple character that read ‘ _Reason’._   
> 
>  
> 
> “...Oh,” Satsuki said, as, just like that, she was suddenly transported back to their explosive argument earlier today. _‘What reason could justify giving up_ **_everything_ ** _\--?’_
> 
>  
> 
> “So…what do you think?” Dai-chan asked, looking first at the kanji scribbled on the paper, and then at the slumbering newborn in Satsuki’s arms. He didn’t seem at all self-conscious or uncertain, and Satsuki had as good as told him that he had to do this for himself...but he was still looking to her for answers.
> 
>  
> 
> That may not have been a good sign; it certainly didn’t bode very well for him doing the rest all on his own, but Satsuki thought that maybe, just maybe, it was something they could work on in time. They were running a little bit short on that now, but he’d surprised her before.
> 
>  
> 
> “I think it’s perfect.”

 

.

 

.

 

Daiki is just getting back into his car when his phone vibrates in his pocket. Shifting around so he can reach it, he’s pleasantly surprised to be greeted by a new message from Kagami.

 

**From Kagami**

**4:25 pm**

 

_Just got out of class! You still free??_

 

Daiki thinks about it. On the one hand, he’s kind of run out of excuses not to go pick up Yui from daycare -- at least until just now, when this one fell into his lap -- but on the other...if he was working today, he wouldn’t be getting out until after six, and it’s not like anyone would _know_ that’s not what he was doing…what’s the harm in pretending?

 

**To Kagami**

**4:27 pm**

 

_Two more hours_

 

He's prepared to wait, but the reply is almost instantaneous, betraying Kagami’s excitement.

 

**From Kagami**

**4:27 pm**

 

_Do you still wanna play ball?_

 

Daiki leans one arm against the steering wheel, looking down at the screen and wetting his lips thoughtfully. _Tempting...and yet…_ His earlier discovery and subsequent conversation with Himuro flash through his mind, and he makes up his mind and sets his thumbs to the keypad.

 

**To Kagami**

**4:28 pm**

 

_Actually, want to come to my place for a bit?_

_I can pick you up_

 

He sets his phone in his lap and reaches over his shoulder to grab his seatbelt, already raring to go. A reply vibrates against his thigh a moment later.

 

**From Kagami**

**4:29 pm**

 

_For real? Sure! I’ll send you the address._

 

**From Kagami**

**4:30 pm**

 

_[1 Attachment]_

 

Daiki hadn’t been aware that he was anywhere near a college campus, but it looks like Kagami’s school is even closer to the street court than his apartment is. He might come to the Friday games straight from class, then. He doesn’t know Kagami’s schedule well enough to say for sure, but it’s convenient for his purposes, and that’s all that matters.

 

It’s entirely too easy to pick Kagami out of the loose throng milling about the main courtyard, once he reaches it. He stands head and shoulders above the rest, and his red hair is like a beacon, a pair of over-the-ear headphones squashing it down and making some strands stick out haphazardly around the padded band.

 

He must not have his volume too high, though, because he jumps and looks up -- along with several other disgruntled students -- when Daiki lays into his horn.

 

Daiki can’t help smirking as he draws a handful of annoyed looks by responding to the crude summons, approaching the curb and opening the passenger side door, automatically assuming it will be unlocked for him. It is.

 

“Dick,” he fake-coughs as he gathers his long legs into the car, before pushing his headphones down around his neck and throwing Daiki a provocative grin, “You sure took your time.”

 

“Not on purpose!” Daiki scoffs, “This place is a fucking _maze_ , I got turned around like three times, and that was _with_ GPS!”

 

“GPS doesn’t know shit about campus streets,” Kagami says, shooting a cursory glance over his shoulder, “Yui’s not with you?”

 

He sounds surprised, and that's reason enough for Daiki to drop his indignation for now.

 

“I wouldn’t have said I was free if she was,” he points out, “She’s still at daycare.”

 

"So you’re _free_ free, then..."

 

Daiki looks at him incredulously, “You thought I’d just invite you over on a random weekday while I still had her at home?”

 

“I was just checking!" Kagami says defensively, looking embarrassed and fiddling with his seatbelt, “And well, I mean...I wouldn’t’ve minded…”

 

For a few seconds, Daiki continues to stare at him, at a loss, and then sets his hands on either side of the wheel and turns around.

 

“Huh,” he says, “I’ll keep that in mind, I guess.”

 

As he pulls out of the labyrinth of a school, Daiki tries to think of a way to subtly shift the conversation toward the reason he _did_ invite him over, but he comes up empty-handed every time. Subtle isn’t exactly his specialty, so he drives for several minutes in silence, mulling it over.

 

“So I ran into your f --" he starts at last, before breaking off and quickly rephrasing, “Your friend Himuro, today.”

 

Kagami turns to him with a look of confusion, but Daiki doesn’t know if it’s geared more toward the self-interruption or the change of subject.

 

“...At the street court?” he ventures, raising his eyebrows warily.

 

Daiki nods with his eyes on the road, though he keeps shooting occasional, searching glances to the side, “Apparently he goes there before work, sometimes.”

 

“I know,” Kagami says, “Did you guys play, then?”

 

“Yeah, a bit,” Daiki shrugs dismissively, “I destroyed him, of course.”

 

He can hear the smirk in Kagami's voice, "Of course.”

 

“And then we...kind of got to talking about you,” Daiki admits, taking the excuse to look away as he puts on his blinker, pretending to be really focused on the flow of traffic. He doesn’t know if he should even bring it up; he hasn’t got the faintest idea what Kagami’s comfort level might be with the subject...but Himuro had openly suggested it, and part of him is still gnawing with curiosity and unease after his evasive answers before.

 

“Oh,” Kagami says, before sighing in apparent, teasing despair, “Alright, what did that bastard say about me this time?”

 

“He said he was your ex,” Daiki blurts out, and catches the way Kagami’s shoulders tense, just slightly, in response.

 

“...Oh,” he repeats, and now his voice is like a slashed tire, “So you talked about _that,_ huh?”

 

Daiki hesitates, wondering what could have happened for him to spit _‘that’_ out so bitterly.

 

“Uh...kind of?” he says, as it dawns on him that he might be fumbling into territory he doesn’t want to be in, “He didn’t really...tell me anything about it.”

 

They should drop it right there, he thinks, as the silence draws out; there’s no need for him to know the whole, unabridged story. Kagami didn't demand _his_ , and has still been nothing but careful when he asks about anything to do with Yui, or Daiki’s history concerning her. The least he can do is return the favor.

 

Finally, though, Kagami huffs a silent laugh and redirects his gaze, just as Daiki turns into the lot behind the apartment complex.

 

“Not much to tell,” he says with a shrug, “It’s the oldest story in the book, really...there was someone else, and he didn’t tell me. That’s all.”

 

“So...what, he had a side piece?” Daiki asks, after trying and failing to meet his eye.

 

 _That prick_ , he thinks, but decides against saying out loud. Kagami looks conflicted now, gazing at his own lap. Not upset, exactly, but definitely uncomfortable.

 

“No, well...” he says slowly, worrying his lower lip between his teeth, “I guess you could say I was the side piece, and didn’t know it.”

 

“Oh shit,” Daiki says. He doesn’t know what else there is to say.  He’s already pulled into a space and shut off the engine, but neither of them make a move to get out.

 

“It wasn’t all on him, though,” Kagami continues after a moment, his mouth turned down in a grimace, “I misunderstood. I thought I was his boyfriend, not his little gay experiment.”

 

“Oh… _shit,”_ Daiki says again, blowing out a sigh and closing his eyes as the thought clicks into place.

 

A public first date at a gay bar. Kagami asking; double, triple checking if Daiki’s seeing anyone. His relief to finally confirm he isn't. His adamant refusal to kiss him drunk...

 

_‘I mean, shit, are you even --?’_

 

_‘Gay?’_

 

_‘...I was gonna say single.’_

 

He was under the impression that Kagami might be rushing into this, blindly assured of his own victory, like he is when they play...but he's been doing his due diligence since the day they met.

 

“How are you still friends, after that?” Daiki asks in disbelief, “Hell, how do you get off wearing _matching rings…?”_

 

Kagami lifts his shoulders in another shrug, “Brothers fight,” he says simply, “He apologized, and showed me he was really sorry...so I forgave him, and we let it go.”

 

For a moment, neither of them say anything. Daiki doesn’t really know what to do with the idea of Kagami referring to the person who had deceived and cheated on him as his brother, but he supposes he should probably check his experience before throwing any accusations around. His own relationships don’t seem nearly so complicated, but if Kagami were to look at them, he might see plenty that’s worth questioning. It’s easy to pass judgment when he’s not the one living it.

 

“You’re crazy,” he feels he should inform Kagami, regardless, reaching across the center console to poke him lightly in the chest.

 

“Hmm,” Kagami says, not seeming particularly bothered by this news. His eyes have zeroed in on Daiki’s now, with interest, “Maybe...”

 

There’s some kind of gravity in how those deep red eyes pull him in, but Daiki has to stop and sit back before he lets himself get lost this time. There’s something he needs to make absolutely clear first.

 

“You're not...I'm not...just experimenting with you,” he says awkwardly, his knees bumping into the steering wheel as he tries to turn to face him, “I mean, yeah, I’ve kinda been figuring things out on the fly, and it’s confusing, and I don’t even know what I’m doing half the time, but --”

 

Kagami cuts off his nervous rambling with a snort, hiding his mouth behind his hand and shaking helplessly in his seat. Daiki straightens with an offended scowl when he realizes he's being laughed at.

 

“What?”

 

“You’re --” Kagami gasps, in between bouts of giggles, “So bad at this --”

 

“Shut up!” Daiki snaps, feeling his face heat up, “I’m _trying_ to be, like...reassuring or something, you asshole!”

 

“Well, you suck at it,” Kagami tells him flatly, “So cut it out and just kiss me already, idiot.”

 

Daiki blinks, “What, now?”

 

“That is what you invited me over for, isn’t it?” Kagami asks, quirking a forked brow.

 

He leans forward insistently, undoing his seatbelt so he can put his face up close to Daiki’s, a challenge in his gaze.

 

At first, Daiki holds his own, glaring stubbornly, but in the end he gives in and throws the battle when he smirks back at him.

 

“...Yeah,” he says, before sliding a hand in the space between Kagami's headphones and his nape, “I guess it is.”

 

TBC

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Yui's name is written like this: 由)
> 
> That...was a long-ass chapter. All important stuff that needed to happen though, I guess, (for my sake if nothing else) I kept looking through trying to find parts that I could snip off, but I got attached so in the end I decided, screw my average word count, I'm embracing the ramble. C'est la vie.
> 
> Comments really make my day, I seriously love hearing you guys' thoughts about this story, so please fire away! <3


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